


More Than Memories

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-06
Updated: 2009-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 119,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A night that starts out inflicting the pain and horror of war ends in a way Ron had never expected.  A story of love that stands the test of time, and of a passion undeniable, even in the face of heart-wrenching betrayal.  Written pre-HBP and is now AU :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

The last glow of muggle street lamps surrounded him as Ron looked at his hands. The rain turned the blood pink as it pooled off his palms and dropped to the muddy ground, erasing all his sins in the process. He tilted his head up, letting the icy down pour cool the raging adrenaline rush that was still pumping through his veins. God, it was nights like this that he hated being an Auror.

The Death Eaters were gone. They'd Disapparated away, leaving only their fallen mate behind. Ron was alone. He was sent on this mission strictly for surveillance purposes and it only took one man to do that. It was just his rotten luck to have been found out. As Ron stood there getting soaked to the bone, shivering, he realized that he couldn't Disapparate. His shoulder was killing him. It could very likely be broken. He was just too drained. He'd splinch himself for sure.

Quickly he took in his surroundings, forcing his brain to remember where he was. Maybe there was a wizard home near by. He'd be able to use their fire to floo home. He certainly couldn't stay out in this rain all night; he'd catch his death.

He relaxed a little when he noted that he wasn't far from Harry's cabin. The gods were smiling on him a little after all. He wouldn't have to bother anyone. It was quite late, almost midnight by Ron's guess. Harry never used that old cabin, the only reason he bought it was to get away when he was on holiday from work, but the problem was, Harry never went on holiday. The place had about a year's worth of dust the last time Ron had saw it and that'd been a while ago.

He set out, dreading over a mile walk in the rain, and cold rain at that. It was really his only option. So he set out, thinking about the store of Fire Whiskey Harry always kept there, willing his feet to move despite his body's protests.

He had to light his wand once he got to the woods; the moon provided little light, especially with the storm that thundered around him. Every once in a while the forest would glow brightly for a spilt second as lighting flashed, but other than that, it was just the single beam from his wand glowing as he walked past the trees and shadows.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the gray outline of the cabin. He considered kipping there for the night, but really, it was a bit rustic for Ron's tastes. He preferred his nice, modern flat. He'd never understand Harry, all that money and he buys rickety old cabins in the woods. His best mate was becoming a right eccentric in his old age.

Once Ron got closer, he noticed that the windows glowed from candle light inside. He frowned as he got continued to walk nearer. He knew Harry was gone on a mission, and Ron was quite certain that Harry wasn't anywhere near. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in defensiveness. Two years of training and five years of being one of the top Aurors in the ministry made him more than a little jumpy. He didn't like that someone was staying in a cabin no one was supposed to know existed. In fact, Ron was almost sure that Harry had cast glamour spells on it so that only a select few people in Harry's inner circle could actually see it to begin with. He wanted to know who was in there.

Despite his shoulder that was throbbing in pain, and the icy rain that had long since chilled him to the bone, Ron pushed forward, moving stealthily through the trees until he was close enough to look in, but still remain hidden in the shadows.

He noted that whomever was staying there had cleaned it up. Curtains hung in windows that had once been bare, and from what Ron could see there was no dust anywhere. It looked almost immaculate, quaint and kind of feminine, definitely not something Harry would do. Suddenly, realization hit him. Ice flooded Ron's veins, and it had nothing to do with the rain, he stumbled and backed against the tree, knowing who was in there before she appeared.

And she did appear.

He watched her come from kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand, her long curly hair tied in a loose bun with curls springing free all over the place. She had on a simple white nightdress, very conservative, very her. Even so, in the light, he could almost swear he was seeing the outline of her breasts through the light cotton, the faint darkness of her nipples, puckered from the cold evening.

No, he was filling that in himself. His mind was playing tricks on him due to cold, and pain, and loneliness. God, he missed her. He missed her everyday. No woman, nameless or not, could replace her. He'd tried, he really had, but it just didn't work. One night with Hermione had ruined him for life, and he'd give just about anything to take it back. Yet, even as he thought that, his mind flooded with memories. He could still feel her naked body against his, her hands fisted in his hair, clinging to him for dear life, as she called out his name in broken sobs.

He hadn't meant for it to happen. He'd wanted nothing more than to offer her a shoulder to cry on, to give her some small bit of comfort while she mourned for her parents, but something had happened and even now he had no idea what. One minute Ron had been holding her, crying with her, feeling his heart break over the pain she was in and the next she was kissing him. Her lips were soft and wet against his, salty from the tears that were still flowing down her face. Then her hands were on him, touching him, running underneath his jumper to come in contact with naked flesh. Her voice had been low and pleading against his ear, begging him to make the pain stop, to let her feel something, anything but what she was feeling now.

It had been far too much for a seventeen year-old boy to handle. He'd spent the better part of three years fantasizing about her, and there she was, begging him, Ron Weasley, to make love to her. He couldn't have turned her away even if he'd wanted to. He would have done anything for her at that moment.

He still couldn't decide if the sacrifice had been worth it. He had eased her pain for a bit, but in the morning things had been awkward. He had felt guilty, thinking he'd taken advantage of her. That night had been the best moment of his life, but it had happened because Hermione's parents had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters. It made him feel terrible, and it was made worse by Hermione. She had avoided him after that, never really looking him in the eye. They were polite to each other, never arguing, never bantering, and never laughing.

Ron had hated it. It made him miserable. All that was dear to him was dead, devoid of passion. He'd rather stay away, than just pretend that it hadn't happened. It broke his heart to hear Hermione's voice dull and impassive as she spoke to him.

It had been over seven years since he saw her. They'd separated after school, with Harry and Ron going into Auror training and Hermione working for the Department of Mysteries, doing what, he never knew. She traveled a lot and had actually ended up being stationed in France the last Ron had heard. Harry kept in touch with her, but he seldom mentioned her to Ron, somehow knowing that it was too painful for him to hear, even if he didn't really know the details of their rift between the two of them.

And now, there she was, looking just as beautiful as he had remembered, even more so. From the distance it seemed her features had softened with adulthood. Her hair was darker, and looked slightly tamer, but it was up, so he could be wrong. Her figure was a little rounder, more womanly, rather than holding the last few angles of childhood like it had when he'd been with her. She was still short, slim and elegant in her own way. He was in love with her, the distance hadn't changed anything, and that terrified him. He was seriously considering just staying out in the rain that was still freezing, still soaking him to the bone, when he saw her turn to look out the window. Her eyes narrowed to peer through the murky wet darkness, and then widened. Ron cursed out loud when he realized that his wand was still lit. He'd been distracted and forgot all about it. Some Auror he was.

Hermione moved toward the door and Ron extinguished his wand before she could see who it was outside her window. He moved to hide behind the tree when the door opened and Hermione looked out, holding a hand over her head to keep her hair dry as she called out.

"Ron?"


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's heart was beating rapidly as she waited for an answer to her call, but none came. She was positive that she'd seen Ron. She wasn't going mad. She'd know that tall frame and shock of red hair anywhere, even if it had just been a glimpse of it in the single light of a wand.

She gripped the wand in her hand tighter. It could be a trick. Death Eaters weren't past using glamour spells or polyjuice potion to gain ones trust.

"I recommend you answer me or I'm going to start throwing hexes, and you don't want that," she snapped into the darkness, lowering her hand that was blocking some of the rain bouncing off the house.

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance as she caught the echo of shuffling feet and a few choice words that made her almost certain that it was the real Ron.

"I'm not joking. . . I suggest you show yourself," Hermione said, surprising herself at her fierceness.

"Okay! Blimey, you've got rather grouchy since I last saw you," she heard a gruff voice mutter as Ron stepped from behind the large oak tree he'd been hiding behind.

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to reprimand him, to snap at him for hiding from her in the dark and scaring her half to death, but then she caught a good look at him. Of course, he was still very tall maybe even gaining an inch or two. His hair was still red, though it was soaked, so she couldn't tell if it had got darker and that was where the similarity ended with the boy she remembered.

He'd grown into his frame and was actually a very large man, which was surprising. All this time she'd been picturing him as somewhat thin and lankly like he had been. His face was very masculine, no longer youthful as she'd held him in her mind. Ron had on a simple pair of jeans and a black shirt that was sticking to him, due to the rain, leaving very little to the imagination. Hermione could see the outline of strong, hard muscles underneath it. She was reluctant to admit it, but he looked incredible. She wasn't prepared for how handsome he'd grown. For some reason, she had never once considered that he'd changed over the years. Harry certainly had never mentioned it, but then again, Harry was Harry and he probably hadn't noticed.

"Can I come in or are you going to let me stand out in this rain all night?"

Hermione blinked at his annoyance, shocked. He'd been very dull and passive with her before she'd left, painfully bland, not the Ron she knew. Now, though, he sounded much more like the Ron she'd missed all these years.

"What are you doing out in the rain, anyway?" she asked, more as a distraction against her raging emotions.

"Oh, I just thought I'd go for a stroll, freeze my arse off, and maybe catch my death," Ron said in a deadpan voice, before he stepped closer to her, looking at her seriously. "I'm working, Hermione. Can I come in or not?"

She stepped aside, and Ron moved past her, his frame filled the doorway, and his arm brushed against hers, sending a tingle through it, She wasn't ready for this. Memories of him still haunted her. When she closed her eyes at night all she'd hear was his voice, deep against her ear as he moaned her name, sliding into her, filling her. She hadn't even felt the pain her first time, her emotions had been too raw. All she'd felt was him connecting with her, their souls merging as one, if only for a short time.

It wasn't until the next morning that the reality of what she'd done had hit her. She'd thrown herself at Ron brazenly. She'd behaved just like a scarlet woman. She'd begged Ron to make love to her. She'd never get over the humiliation of it all. Even now, staring at him over seven years later, she still felt her face heat up. Maybe, it wouldn't have been so bad if Ron had returned her feelings, if he had loved her, but he'd been just as awkward the next morning, as through miserable that it had happened.

She'd ruined their friendship because she'd been too weak to deny her feelings. She'd spent years keeping them carefully hidden, but in a moment of extreme sorrow they'd poured out of her in desperate actions, and there was nothing she could do to take it all back. That night she had lost her parents and one of her best friends. It was something she didn't think she'd ever fully recover from and it was far more than she'd been able to face.

So, she'd left. She'd accepted a position with the Department of Mysteries that allowed her to travel. She buried herself in old volumes studying the most deadly and complex magic, and working with some of the wizarding world's greatest minds to develop defenses against it. She liked her work. She loved to travel and felt like she was making a difference in the process. It was her way of helping the fight.

Of course, what she did was hardly exciting in comparison to Ron and Harry, who dedicated themselves to field work. Hermione kept in close contact with Harry, unwilling to lose two friends because of her lack of judgment. Sometimes he'd disappear for months at time, only to return beaten, tired, and a little more world-weary than he had been before he left. She was sure Ron was no different. In fact, as she looked at him now, dripping wet, shaking from the cold, she noticed that his face had lines that a twenty five year old shouldn't have, his eyes spoke volumes about what he did.

"Do you have some floo powder? I'll just use it to get home," Ron mumbled, shifting apprehensively, looking around the small living room as though the walls were caving in on him.

Hermione felt her guard go up. True, they hadn't been close in the past several years, but she'd been his friend for a long time. He was being down right rude for someone who hadn't seen her in seven years.

"Well, hello to you too, Ron," she snapped going to the mantle over the fireplace, grabbing a small container of floo powder and thrusting it at him.

Ron reached to take the container from her, wincing sharply when he moved, and Hermione peered at him closer. He was pale, a faint misty steam was coming off his large body, obviously from the ice-cold rain that drenched him, his lips were near blue, and the crease between his eyebrows told her that he was in pain and trying very hard to hide it. He hadn't changed that much after all.

"You're hurt," she whispered, feeling all the anger drain out of her. "Tell me what's wrong. "

"It's nothing," Ron said, shaking his head. "I've just had a bad night."

Hermione went to the desk and grabbed a chair then pushed Ron into it. He winced again, stifling a curse when she put a hand on his shoulder. At least now she knew where he was hurting. He resisted her at first, but when she started casting warming spells over him, drying his clothes and heating his skin, he stopped complaining. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair, allowing her to help him as though it had only been seven days rather than seven years since they'd last seen each other.

At first, she was only concentrating on warming Ron up. He'd catch pneumonia in the state he'd been in. His skin was freezing. When she noted that some of his color returned, she focused on his shoulder. She had to cut his shirt off him, since he wasn't able to lift his arm. Hermione determined instantly that he'd broken it. It was a wonder that he'd been able to withstand that much pain, without crying out. As she poked and prodded at the freckled flesh he finally asked her if she knew where Harry's store of alcohol was.

Hermione didn't condone heavy drinking, being very against anything that confused the mind. She'd almost thrown out Harry's stash of liquor, which was considerable, but she hadn't. He'd been nice enough to offer her a place to stay when she transferred back to England. She hadn't had time to look for a flat straight away, and she very much enjoyed his quiet cabin, it was a great place to think. So, she let it go.

Hermione got up and searched through the kitchen cabinets until she located a large bottle of Fire Whiskey. She handed it to Ron and arched an eyebrow when he drank far more than she thought was necessary to take the edge off the pain.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Hermione said as she got back on her knees in front of him, feeling around his shoulder, noting that it was a pretty bad break. She wanted to know what happened, but knew better than to ask

"It'd take a lot more than this to make me sick," Ron said taking another drink, and then looking down at her with a small smile.

"I'll take your word for it. I'm sure you've tested your limits many times."

"Once or twice." Ron laughed painfully. "I've missed you. How are you?"

Hermione stopped poking at him, and looked up. His gaze ran over her face as though reacquainting himself with her features. It made her throat feel dry and she choked on her answer. "I'm. . . good. How are you?"

"I've been better," he said, taking another drink. "Although, seeing you is nice. Sorry I was a prat earlier. I just didn't want to disturb you."

Hermione frowned at him. "Disturb me? Ron, you should know that you wouldn't disturb me. We're still friends, aren't we?"

Ron studied her, his eyes clouding over for just a moment before he smiled weakly. "Yes, Hermione. We're still friends."

Hermione nodded, more than willing to leave everything else unsaid. She felt at Ron's shoulder for a few more seconds. "It's broken."

"I'd pretty much worked that out. Can you fix it?"

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating for a bit. "I can, yes, but I don't think it'd be as good as a healer could do."

"I trust you."

"Maybe you shouldn't. . . Medical charms aren't my specialty. You'd be far better off going to St. Mungo's."

"I'd rather not. I've been there enough," Ron said, turning slightly red, just as he had when he was a boy.

"Oh," Hermione mumbled, again wondering what had happened to him that he'd ended up in St. Mungo's more than once. "Well, I guess I can do it then."

Hermione took a few deep breaths to clear her head, and then started performing the healing charms. He let out a huge sigh of relief when she was done. She set her wand on the table and looked up at him. Ron gave her a brilliant smile, one of those smiles that went straight to her heart.

"See, I knew you could do it," he said, moving and stretching his arm. "It's perfect, better than the healers could do. I've had more than a few bones mended by them and they never do this good of a job. It usually aches for days after."

Hermione had only been half listening to him, she was distracted by the way his muscles moved and shifted as he stretched his arm. She noticed that he did have several faint scars over his chest and arms; they were just a shade darker than the rest of his skin, slightly pink against the pale freckled flesh. They weren't ugly or disfiguring. Actually, Hermione thought they were rather attractive. The scars added character to him and made it rapidly apparent how very masculine he was, not that Hermione was having a hard time grasping that.

Entranced, she reached out and ran a finger over one jagged scar, wincing at what a terrible wound it must have been before it was healed. It ran from his collarbone all the way down to the center of his chest. Usually, you could heal a flesh wound with no markings left on the skin. It would have had to been a very severe injury or several days old by the time it was treated to leave such blatant evidence. Hermione guessed it was a little of both.

He shivered, and Hermione watched goose bumps spread across the flesh she touched. Suddenly, Ron's large hand closed over hers, trapping it against his warm skin. She looked up, disappointed that he'd stopped her, but felt a shiver of her own when she saw how he was looking at her.

"Don't. . ." Ron started, his voice cracking as though he hadn't used it in years. He licked his lips and closed his eyes for a second. ". . . don't look at me like that, Hermione."

Hermione wasn't stupid. She hadn't had much experience with men, but she did know when one wanted her and she was fairly certain Ron wanted her. It sent a thrill through her. Her life had been painfully lonely these past many years, simple and organized, but not much more. She'd almost forgot the spark Ron had added to it. The excitement she'd felt in his presence.

Their friendship was already in tatters. By analyzing the situation she realized that she really had nothing to lose by acting on impulse. If Ron was gone in the morning she'd be no worse off than she was before he'd shown up. So, she licked her own lips, and spoke.

"Why not?"

 

At the sound of Hermione's voice, low and teasing, Ron's jeans tightened uncomfortably. He shifted, still holding her hand against his chest, his skin tingling from her touch.

Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd end such a dreadful night with Hermione looking at him the way she was right now, and touching him the way she had been, in reverence, biting her lip as she studied him. It had been the most sensual thing Ron had ever seen. It was almost worth the suffering he'd gone through getting the scar she found so fascinating.

Gods, he wanted her. There had been so much that had been left undone the first time they'd been together. He'd been a bumbling idiot, too caught up in new sensations to really pay attention to what he was doing. Still, he didn't want to hurt her like he had the last time. They'd both suffered for years because of his mistake.

"Hermione, this isn't a game," he reminded her.

Hermione nodded, still looking at him, her eyes hot with desire. "I know."

She was so beautiful kneeling before him, her skin was rosy against the white nightdress she wore, her face was flushed in anticipation, framed by chestnut curls that sprang free from the bun she'd pulled her hair into. She looked nervous, and still so innocent, but sensual and womanly all at the same time.

Ron hadn't had the strength to resist her at seventeen. He'd have liked to believe that over the years he'd gained a little more willpower, but he hadn't. Her effect over him was as strong as ever, and he was still powerless against it. It was nothing like the one-night stands he sometimes indulged in to kill the pain his life inflicted on him. This was exciting and new, yet warm and comfortable at the same time. He marveled that time and space hadn't killed the companionship he felt with Hermione. Being around her was effortless, like she'd never left.

He reached out to her, freeing her hand and holding her face between his large palms. They stared at each other in awe at something so fast and unexpected, and he would have told her then. He would have said that he'd always loved her, that he'd never stopped, not for one minute, but instead, she leaned into him, kissing him gently, and all sense of thought left him.

Her lips parted with a soft sigh and his tongue invaded her mouth, desperate to breathe her in, to know her after so long. Ron groaned at the fire that speared through him. She was just as soft, just as sweet as he remembered, tasting of raspberry tea, and something more, something that was just Hermione. He'd often thought that he'd somehow built her up in his mind over the years, that the incredible memories burned into his mind were a young boys reaction to being kissed by a girl he'd always desired, but he'd been wrong. It had nothing to do with anything other than them and the connection they shared.

His hands fumbled in her hair until it sprang free from it's confines, spilling around her in a glowing tangle of curls that smelled of flowers, and made her look like a goddess. Without thinking, he got up off the chair, never letting her go as he dropped to his knees, the fire casting a warm glow over their skin as they fell to the hearthrug.


	3. Chapter 3

He tasted like whiskey, hot and heady. He smelled of earth, and rain. His hair was still wet, cold against her fingers as she threaded them into it. Oh and he was so hard, so warm, so very solid, pressed against her.

He continued to kiss her, exploring her mouth, making a low noise in the back of his throat when her tongue boldly brushed against his. After a bit, Ron pulled up to gaze down at her, his eyes glowed a vibrant blue, reflecting the orange flames of the fire. He looked like he wanted to say something. He seemed so very serious all of a sudden and Hermione panicked. What if he wanted to stop?

She reached up, once again lacing her hands into his red hair, and brought his face back to hers. His words were muffed against her lips as she kissed him fiercely, she'd never know what he wanted to say, and in truth, she didn't care, because she heard his moan of defeat, felt him shudder in surrender. He was hers for the night and that's all she wanted.

Ron's rough hand slid up her leg, slipping underneath her nightdress to the bare skin to of her thigh. Just that simple caress was enough to make Hermione break the kiss. Her head fell back against the fur rug as she moved her hips against his, arching into him.

Ron's patience, which already seemed to be worn thin, obliviously broke, because he started tugging at her nightdress, sliding the white cotton over her sensitive skin, revealing her legs, her stomach, her breasts, then higher still. Hermione raised her arms for fear he might actually rip her favorite nightdress, and helped him pull it over her head, then watched him toss it aside, dangerously close to the fire. But suddenly it didn't matter, let it burn she thought, because Ron was looking at her, his eyes filled with hunger, his gaze searing her skin that that was tingling in anticipation.

His head dipped to the curve of her neck, kissing, nipping at the skin there, and Hermione moved her head giving him better access. He was whispering things against her as he traveled lower to the valley of her breasts. Hermione could hardly process them, she was already so far gone, but she got the point, heard his desperation, his adoration. If she had been in her right mind, it would have been shocking coming from a man who hadn't even bothered to send her an owl for over three years.

His tongue flicked against her nipple, hardened by desire and the chill in the air. Hermione wanted to squeeze her eyes shut at the shock of pleasure, but couldn't. Ron looked at her as his tongue laved over the hardened peak, blues eyes meeting brown over the curve of her breast.

"I'm going to make it good for you this time," he said as he studied her face, his eyes so very sincere.

"It was good last time." Hermione sighed, for once welcoming the memories of being with him without the fear of loneliness that usually accompanied them.

Ron laughed bitterly. "Are you kidding? I was an idiot. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I probably suffer poorly in comparison with the other men you've been with."

Hermione frowned, tilting her head back so he wouldn't see the look on her face. She didn't know why it hurt her to know that Ron assumed she'd been with others besides him, but it did. She'd never come close to sharing with another man what she had with Ron, and she certainly hadn't had another lover.

He took the other nipple in his mouth, sucking on it, his teeth scraping against it in a way that clouded her musings. Suddenly, she didn't care what Ron thought of her. It didn't matter that he'd probably shared with other women what he was about to share with her again. Hermione blocked out everything but this moment. She had never expected this gift. A spark of light in her dull life, something to give her hope in the midst of war and sadness.

Ron's hands trailed over her body, exploring her curves, leaving a sheen of fire in the wake of his caresses. His touch slid between her legs, past the scrap of lace that covered her. It was too much, and she gave in and squeezed her eyes shut as his fingers slid into her warmth.

"Oh shit, Hermione," Ron groaned, as he thrust his fingers deeper in her, feeling her slick with want for him. "You're so tight."

 

Ron's mind reeled with a sudden realization as she clenched around his fingers. It was more than just the feel of her. It was in her movements against him, her voice so pure and unrehearsed. Nothing was out of habit, it was all on instinct, still innocent and full of wonder when, by twenty-four, it should have been a little jaded.

"There were no other men," he whispered, the words barely choking past his throat that was suddenly tight with emotion.

Hermione's eyes opened, they were still clouded with desire, but she'd heard him and smiled. "No, you were the only one I'd ever wanted to be with. I'm particular."

Ron would have laughed, but guilt flooded him. He felt tarnished, and suddenly wished that he'd had the will power to keep what was between the two of them sacred like Hermione had. He let his head fall against her chest, his forehead resting between her breasts as he took a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It doesn't matter," she said soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress.

"I'm not a very good man. You'd have been better off remembering me at eighteen."

"Of course you're a good man. I know you are."

He shook his head, unwillingly remembering the Death Eater he'd killed that night. "I've done horrible things."

"You've done what you had to in order to survive. You're fighting for what is right, and that's what's important," Hermione said as her fingers trailed from his hair to his shoulders and over his naked back.

"I feel like I've lost my soul to this war. I hadn't realized how much of me was gone until I saw you again," he mumbled, still unwilling to look her in the eye.

"We've all lost parts of ourselves, but you're still there. I can see it."

Ron felt comfort from her words. If she still saw good in him, then maybe it was there somewhere. Hermione was by far the smartest witch he'd ever met and she was seldom wrong about anything. He lifted his head and blinked up at her. He was far too cynical to cry anymore, but the sting was there. He loved Hermione, but he couldn't stay. His life was full of darkness and he'd sooner turn his wand on himself than to let that affect her.

"I can't offer you anything, you know that," Ron said, not wanting to hurt her anymore than he already had.

"I know. Our lives are very different now," Hermione said, not sounding at all bitter despite the emotion in her voice. "Just give me a small piece of you tonight. That's what I want."

"If that's what you want, I'll gladly give it," Ron said, feeling like it was hardly valuable.

"You make sure you remember that promise," Hermione said, surprisingly solemn as she laced her fingers into his hair and bring his face close to hers. "Will you remember it?"

He frowned at her, not sure what exactly she was getting at. "You can have any part of me you want, there isn't much good left, but what's there is yours."

She smiled brilliantly at him and tugged on his hair, pulling him down until her lips brushed his. "Good, then stop talking and make love to me."

His lips claimed hers again, his tongue sliding into her mouth as his hands pulled on her knickers, sliding them over her smooth legs. He may not be pure, but he did know what he was doing, and he was determined to make good use of that knowledge.

Hermione gasped when he pulled away to suck on his fingers, tasting her essence that was still on them from his earlier caresses. Then he smiled wickedly at her, and leaned down to dust kisses over the flat plain of her stomach.

"You taste good," he said against her skin. "I'm going taste a lot more of you before this night is over."

"You can't," Hermione said, her voice already heavily with desire and not sounding nearly as scandalized as she might have liked.

"Oh, yes, I can," he said, letting his fingers delve between her legs again as his tongue grazed her hipbone. "I'm going to run my tongue over you until you're screaming my name."

Hermione's legs fell apart as his lips brushed against her moist brown curls. There was a hesitation in her, he knew, but she trusted him and that knowledge was empowering. The sight of her so exposed was too much, and his mouth moved over her. He savored her soft creamy sexuality, sucking greedily, and then circling his tongue over her clit, making her writhe beneath him.

Pleasure coiled in Hermione despite the shock at so intimate an invasion. Ron's mouth was unbelievably hot and torturous against her. The intimacy of what he was doing only made everything more acute. Her mouth fell open and small sounds escaped her as her body reached for release. Even in her haze, curiosity got the best of her and she opened her eyes just barely to see Ron bent over her exposed womanhood, her legs draped over his broad shoulders, his hair shinning like a thousands strands of copper under the glow of the fire. The image was her undoing. Her eyes squeezed shut, robbing her of the erotic picture, but it didn't matter because the pounding, pulsating pleasure hit her violently, and she shuddered in ecstasy.

Ron quickly pulled at the rest of his clothing until he was as bare as she was. Small tremors still shook her as he moved over, pinning her to the floor with his large body. She was able to catch a fleeting look at him fully naked, hard, and so blatantly male. When she thought that he'd finally make her his, he reached down to his jeans instead, picking up his wand as though the motion was automatic. Hermione almost laughed when she realized that he going to perform a contraception charm. As careless as he usually was, it was obvious that this one thing was so ingrained in him he did it without thinking. She supposed that being a Weasley made him more than a little paranoid about pregnancy.

"It's alright. I've got it taken care of," Hermione said, placing a hand over his to stop him.

On instinct, she wrapped her legs around him, with one draping over his hip while the other fell over his thigh and Ron tossed his wand aside. His eyes were hot with need, and she noticed that he was shaking. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders, and past the muscles on his back, feeling them shift under her fingers. She moved her hips so that his erection was resting at her opening, the invitation was very clear. Ron took it and eased himself into her. She sucked in a sharp breath in response to the tide of pleasure and pain that came with his slow movements.

"Relax, you're still really tight," Ron groaned against her ear as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. "Fuck, but you feel good."

He pulled out and pushed back into her, slowly building the tension and erasing any discomfort. Hermione moaned desperately from the hot friction of him thrusting inside her. With each gasping breath she took, his movements became harder, faster, and soon she found herself mindless in her search for release. He filled her completely, stretching her with his thick shaft that was like silken steel, so erotically different from her own moist heat.

She thrashed beneath him, her hips bucked wildly against his as the intense need rose to a precipice, holding her at the place just beyond oblivion. Then Ron's hand slid between their straining bodies to caress her, his fingers moving rhythmically in time with his thrusts. It was enough to push her over the edge and Hermione was lost in a cloud of ecstasy as the coil of tension unwound, sending tingling warmth over her entire body.

Ron thrust into her more furiously, his muscles seizing when he felt Hermione pulsate around his cock as she came, milking him, and pulling him down with her into the fiery abyss. Her cries fed his soul and he moaned her name like a prayer as the bliss surrounded him, blinding him to all but her.

Their chests heaved. Their hearts still beat wildly out of control, battering their ribs as they slowly returned to reality. Their bodies were sated and heavy, and Ron reluctantly rolled off Hermione, knowing that she'd already accommodated his weight too long.

"Are you leaving?" Hermione asked, still breathless and disorientated.

"Not yet," he said, reaching out and gathering her against him. "I'll stay the night."

Warm, and happy, feeling loved and no longer alone, Hermione's eyes drifted shut as she rested her head against Ron's muscled chest. Tomorrow would come, she knew, but for now, the night was all that mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

Ron sat on the hearthrug, one arm resting on his knees as he stared into the fire. He took a long drink out of the bottle of whiskey at his side, thinking that he owed Harry a hell of a lot for storing it there. He needed the edges of reality to be a bit blurred. His conscience had suffered enough for one night.

He looked from the fire to Hermione, still sleeping, curled up under the blanket he'd covered her with when he discovered he wouldn't be able to rest with her warm and naked against him. In sleep, she'd turned to her side, and Ron knew that if he leaned forward a little, the smooth lines of her bare back would be visible. He stared at the long tangle of brown curls that fell around her, watching it reflect strands of gold in the firelight. What he really needed was a cigarette, something to do with his hands so they wouldn't itch to touch her again. Maybe Harry had some of those stored around there too. The muggle cigarettes that he preferred, the ones brilliantly pre packaged so that you didn't have to roll them yourself.

Too lazy to get up and look, Ron stayed where he was, watching Hermione and working his way through Harry's whiskey. He'd have to leave in a few hours, and his heart was already breaking. He wanted to stay with her. The whimsical part of him that life hadn't beaten down yet, longed for a relationship, but he knew he couldn't have that. His work had him gone for months at a time, and the things he involved himself in were dangerous. A romantic interest would make his life and his work very difficult. Hermione was capable of taking care of herself, but even so, he couldn't afford the weakness his worry would cause him. Vulnerability like that got blokes killed.

Merlin, but it didn't help the pain.

He was just contemplating waking her and loving her one more time before he had to go, when she stirred. Hermione rolled onto her back, the movement causing the blanket to slip, exposing one perfectly round breast, and Ron watched, entranced, as her arms stretched, and her back bowed like a cat waking up from a long nap.

He smiled, remembering something out of the blue.

"Did you ever finish your animgus training?"

Hermione smiled sleepily, and turned her head to look at him, her eyes blinking a few times as she came into full wakefulness. "Of course, did you have a doubt?"

"Nope. . . Hermione Granger always finishes what she starts, doesn't she?"

"I'd show you, but I'm too lazy, maybe later."

"Oh, I don't know. . . You look sort of cat like right now. It's what got me thinking of it."

"Like the cat who got the cream," Hermione murmured, rolling onto her side.

Ron choked on the drink he'd just brought to his lips, coughing and spraying whiskey over himself and then he laughed, unable to hide his shock. Hermione laughed with him and there was something so endearing about it all. She looked so incredibly beautiful lying there and laughing on the fur rug, wearing firelight and still glowing from the aftermath of their lovemaking.

Ron set the whiskey aside, and crawled to her, letting his eyes roam over the parts of her body not covered by the blanket. Her hair was mused and curls sprung out at odd angles. He tucked a few of the wild strands behind her ear, knowing that the love he felt must be visible on his face, and sure enough, Hermione's giggles subsided as she looked up at him.

The whiskey had done more than he intended, it made it seem very simple to admit things he shouldn't. It'd be so easy to tell her that he'd never grown out of his boyhood crush, or that he'd always preferred women with long, curly hair. He could tell her that Harry always laughed at him when his eyes would dart towards the Muggle girls in cafes, reading and drinking their coffee, not because they were particularly pretty, rather that Ron didn't think there was anything sexier then seeing a woman totally engrossed in a book, chewing on her lip and twirling strands of long hair around her fingers the way Hermione had done in school. There were a million more examples of how not having Hermione around had left a gapping hole in his life, one that he tried to fill in other ways, but never came close to succeeding.

He would have said it too, he'd drunk more then enough to let his guard down, but Hermione reached up and placed her fingers over his lips.

"I couldn't bear it, Ron," she whispered, looking at him imploringly. "Not if you can't be with me."

"Hermione, I can't. . . not right now," he said painfully, his words muffled as they slipped past her fingers. "I wish I could explain."

"You don't have to," she sighed. "I really do understand."

He kissed the tip of one finger that was tracing the curve of his bottom lip. He grasped her hand, and drew his lips over the lines on her palm. Then lower, kissing the inside of her wrist reverently. He loved her small hand, so smooth, but very capable. It was sometimes scary when a wand was in it, but so good when it was running over his body.

She was the most amazing woman he knew. . .

The words were just there, right in the back of his throat, begging to be said, but he heeded her wishes and leaned down to kiss her instead. The whiskey may have started the job, but Hermione finished it, he was drunk with the taste of her. The night had him enthralled, it was so surreal, it had to be a dream, but it wasn't. Everything was startlingly real.

He might not be able to tell her he loved her, but nothing was stopping him from showing her. His hands ran over her body, exploring the places left undiscovered, and his lips followed their lead. He delighted in the little moans Hermione made when he hit a sensitive spot, and watched as her body reacted to his touch, curving into him, instinctively calling out for more. He discovered each small part of her like a pirate searching for treasure, smiling at the crescent shaped birthmark that she had on her lower back, and nipping at the tiny freckle on her neck.

He had meant to delay his raging need, but it rose up in spite of his best efforts to control it. Before he knew it, he was parting her folds, and sliding his fingers deep inside her, mimicking the actions his body was longing to do. She moved against his hand, erotically unrestrained and Ron couldn't help himself. Suddenly, it wasn't his fingers anymore, but his cock that was thrusting inside her. The alcohol and intense need made him forget to be gentle as he held her waist, and pushed into her heat.

"Ron. . ." Hermione gasped and she jerked against him, taking his length deep inside her. He pulled out and pushed into her harder and deeper, making her gasp again. "Don't stop. . . please, just don't. . .Oh god, it's so good."

If he had a hope at sanity, her mindless pleading for more, obliterated it. He pulled her legs from around his waist and hooked them over his arms, giving him free rein as the frantic desire seized hold of him. It wasn't tender lovemaking. It was wild, desperate, painful because he'd have to leave soon, and beautiful because he wasn't gone yet.

Hermione's nails sunk sharply into skin on his back and her teeth bit at his shoulder, muffling her moans as she came violently beneath him. He hardly cared, because her reaction made his own release rise up and pour over him in a wave of unimaginable bliss. Reality was no longer just blurred. It had completely washed away in the tide of pleasure pulsing through him. Hermione shivered with him, lost on the same beach. They were untouchable, happy, and blissfully alone in a world otherwise filled with war and pain.

Afterwards, they were left in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Their breath was still ragged, and Ron reluctantly pulled himself from Hermione, and fell exhausted to her side. Now sated, he realized how rough he'd been, and guilt flooded him. She still wasn't very experienced, though he was hard pressed to tell. She'd been incredible.

He looked at her anxiously. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Hermione said, her voice still breathy from sex as she moved and draped herself over his chest. Her fingers found the mark she'd left on his shoulder. "Oh, Ron. . . Did I hurt you?"

He lifted his head up and looked at the reddish mark standing out starkly on otherwise pale flesh. For the first time, he noticed the sting of barely broken skin, both there and on his back. If he wasn't so bloody tired, he might have got hard again thinking about how she'd caused it.

"No, love, it doesn't hurt, " he said, reaching and taking her wand away when she would have healed it. "Leave it, I want it there."

"Oh," she said, her eyes widening in realization, and then a small smile crossed her lips.

Hermione placed a chaste kiss against it, and settled against him. Her body fit comfortably against his, and this time it was easy to give into extreme exhaustion until finally Ron slept.

When morning came, he made a point not to wake her. He got dressed in silence, forcing himself not to look towards Hermione, still beautiful and naked on the floor. He'd never be able to leave if he did. That's how close he'd been to staying, a simple glance would have changed his fate, but he never once turned back. Ron silently disapparated away, not realizing that he'd left far more than his heart behind.


	5. Chapter 5

The gods were punishing her. That was the only possible solution Hermione could come up with as she rolled over in bed, feeling the waves of nausea sweep over her. She'd been trapped in this prison of misery for weeks now.

It had started off slow, a little queasiness in the morning, her stomach reacting funny to certain smells, but it had got worse and worse until now she was crippled with the sickness day and night.

Hermione hadn't been to work in days. She even stopped notifying them. She felt so wretched that often she forgot she even had a job. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. She had money saved. Years of careful planning and investing in both the Muggle and Wizarding world had left her very comfortable financially. She and the baby could easily live off her nest egg for years to come.

The baby.

Hermione curled into herself, hoping that it was okay. The baby was all she had left, and it was the only thing that kept her going. The image of soft red curls gave her the strength to try and choke down food that she knew would rebelliously come back up minutes later.

The midwife had told her that morning sickness was normal, but it couldn't be, not this bad. No sane woman would do this more than once. If this was the way Weasley children treated their mothers, Hermione had no idea how Mrs. Weasley had managed seven of them. One was about to kill her and she'd just started.

If Ron were there, she'd probably curse him for the hell he'd put her through. But, he wasn't there. She was alone, always alone. More than once, Hermione had wished for a female friend, someone to talk to about everything. She didn't make friends easily. True, Ginny had been her friend, even Luna, but she hadn't talked to either woman in years.

What she really needed was her mother.

Tears clouded her vision as another intense wave of sickness swept over her, drawing out a moan of pain. She was mad for letting this happen. She was so sick her heart was thumping against her chest rapidly.

Thump, thump, thump. . .

It wouldn't stop the insistent pounding. It was making her head hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, but the noise got louder.

Thump, thump, thump. . .

"Hermione, if you don't open this door, I'll knock it down!"

Hermione opened her eyes. That wasn't her heart. . .

The whole house rattled as the front door to the cabin was blown off its hinges. Hermione would have sat up in bed, but she was too weak to bother. So, she settled for rolling over and tilting her head to look out of her bedroom. A slim man with over long black hair stood in the wreckage that was once the living room. He straightened his glasses, and met her eyes as he walked towards her.

"Didn't you hear me knocking?' Harry snapped, as he set a container on her dressing table and glared down at her.

"You know the password to open the door. It's your cabin," Hermione mumbled. Her lips were so parched it made speaking difficult. "You're always so rash about everything."

"What's wrong? You can't still have the flu," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed and brushing tangles of hair off her face. "David from your department says you haven't been in for over a week. He was so worried he tracked me down."

Hermione was only half hearing him. The smell from the container he'd set on her dressing table was making her worse. She turned away from it, gagging and choking back the dry heaves that rose up in the back of her throat.

"Get it away," she rasped, pointing at the container.

Harry looked at her baffled. "It's only chicken soup."

She had no choice but to shove him out of the way and stumble to the bathroom. She fell to her knees, and heaved into the toilet, but nothing came out. She hadn't eaten in a long while, and the water she'd drunk earlier had long since made its appearance.

"My god," Harry gasped from the door to the bathroom before he came to her, holding her shoulders as she continued to heave. "I'm taking you to St. Mungo's. This is no flu. It's been weeks."

"No," she said, resting her elbow on the toilet seat, and placing her forehead in her hand. "It's normal."

"Normal?" he said incredulously. "By whose standards? You could have been poisoned. There are moles in the Ministry, Hermione, I've warned you about that. . .Anyone could slip something in--"

"I haven't been poisoned," she said, swallowing hard, trying force down the urge to vomit. Being sick in front of Harry wasn't something she was fond of doing.

"Or a hex of some sort. There are types that lay dormant for months, eating at your--"

"Harry," Hermione sighed, wrapping her free arms around her waist when a strong cramp hit her. "You're being paranoid again."

"Oh gee, I wonder why," he said sarcastically, once again brushing the hair off her face. "You look like death, and I don't think I've ever seen you so thin."

She felt like death. Another pain struck her, snaking from her back around to her navel, causing her stomach muscles to seize horribly. This was a different pain, it was sharper, tighter, making her insides contract. Fear seized her suddenly; ice cold fear that sunk into her veins and speared through her body.

"The baby!"

Harry stared at her in shock. "The what?!"

She stood up quickly, determined to floo straight to St. Mungo's, but her fast movement caused her to pitch forward into Harry. Her body was so weak, that she couldn't hold herself up. When the pain in her stomach wouldn't stop, she looked up at Harry, seeing his green eyes wide with horror behind his glasses. She wanted to tell him to get her to the hospital quickly, but his eyes weren't green anymore, they were black. Everything was growing dark around her, darker, darker, until all there was, was darkness. Harry's voice, panicked, saying words she usually found offensive, drifted away as she fell into unconsciousness.

 

 

Tap. . . Tap. . .Tap. . .

Hermione groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Her body hurt, and her stomach was still rebelling. She wanted to sleep more. In her dreams Ron was always there, no longer eighteen, but a grown man, so handsome, like the last time she'd seen him. It was almost real.

Tap. . . Tap. . . Tap. . .

A chair scraped across the floor making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She heard the distinctive sound of someone standing up, boots pacing back and forth, then the thump of that same pacing person flopping back into the chair.

Tap. . . Tap. . . Tap. . .

Hermione opened her eyes, knowing only one person with that much nervous energy. And sure enough, there Harry sat, his wand tapping rhythmically against the small table next to him. What a dreadful habit. How many times had she told him to stop that? It rattled her nerves at the best of times.

"Harry, the wand. . . stop," she moaned.

Harry's wand paused mid-tap, poised inches above the table as he looked at her. Then he scrambled out of his seat and dropped down in the chair next to her bed. His face was so anxious it scared her.

"The baby?" she asked, having to choke out the words. "Is it. . ."

"It's fine," he said, and then took a deep breath to compose himself. "You were dehydrated. It made you go into labour, but once they gave you fluids it. . . it stopped before anything bad happened."

"And you're sure it's okay?"

Harry's jaw clenched, and his eyes blazed, but he nodded his head. "Yes, the baby's fine."

Hermione breathed a sighed of relief and burrowed herself deeper into the small bed she was sleeping in. Goodness knows, she still felt sick, and for the first time, she was grateful. Losing Ron's baby would have been more than she could handle.

"Hermione," Harry started, leaning against the railing of her hospital bed. "About this baby. . ."

She groaned, knowing where this was heading. "Please don't. . . I still feel dreadful."

"Just tell me one thing," he said, and then swallowed hard. "It wasn't. . . I mean, you weren't. . . raped or anything. . ."

"What?!" Hermione said, turning back to look at him. "Harry, no. . . It was very consensual. You can't let your imagination run away with you like that. You always fear the worst."

"I just can't imagine how this happened," he said in true bafflement.

"Immaculate conception," Hermione offered, closing her eyes in hope of Harry dropping it.

Harry snorted in disbelief. "I don't think so. . . Though, it seems more likely than you getting pregnant by accident."

"I'm not that stupid."

"I know!" Harry barked, throwing his hands up. "Which means you did this on purpose. Hermione, why?"

"I just. . .wanted a family again," she sighed, tilting her head to look at him imploringly. "Can't you understand that?"

Harry closed his eyes, his face a mask of pain. "I guess. It's just. . . this is a huge commitment, Hermione. A baby. . . that's just. . . big."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "I'll be fine. You forget who you're talking to. I'm a very capable woman."

"You weren't fine earlier. . . You're not fine now. You still look dreadful."

"Oh thanks," Hermione said dryly.

"Who is he?" Harry asked, opening his eyes. "Where is he? You shouldn't have to do this alone."

"He's gone." Hermione sighed, fighting down the urge to cry. "It was just the one time. I knew he couldn't stay."

"Tell me who it is," Harry demanded, his voice suddenly sharp. "I could find him for you. If not me, Ron will. . . He'd track the bastard down."

"Harry, no," Hermione said, fighting down the urge to panic and make herself sicker in the process. "You can't tell Ron."

"Why?" He frowned. "He's going to find out. . . eventually."

"I just don't want him to know. . .Not right now."

"I can't lie to him," Harry said, looking horrified again.

"He hasn't sent me an owl in years. . . I doubt it'll come up. Just don't mention it."

"I know he's lost touch, but he still cares," he said, looking torn. "He'll be furious with me for not telling him."

Another wave of sickness rolled over her, and Hermione turned to her side, away from Harry. She couldn't bear looking at his concerned face.

"When he finds out," she whispered as guilt knifed at her. "I doubt you'll be the one he's upset with."


	6. Chapter 6

Knockturn alley had never been a very pleasant place, but after years of war, it was one of the most dreadful locations in the civilized wizarding world. Only the most downtrodden souls would find themselves there at night. They lingered in fear, hidden in the shadows of crumpling buildings, or in the desolate alleyways that reeked of human waste and decay.

One lone figure cut through the mist, moving purposely towards his destination, and seemingly unaware of the eyes watching from the darkness. He was tall, well built under his tailored robes, and obviously knew where he was going. Anyone who was forced to make their home on the streets knew this type of character was the most loathsome of them all. Scratching could be heard along the pavement as the pitiful creatures sank back into the shadows, desperate to remain unnoticed.

Sighs of relief could be heard over the steady drip of rain water, as he turned a corner and headed towards a small building that had once been a brothel, but was now something much more sinister.

A slave trader.

It was obvious what he was. A man of his social status would never stoop to such levels to warm his bed, not when there were other high priced whores who'd do almost anything for a benefactor of his means.

His hood concealed his features, but fair colored eyes could be seen glinting in the light of his wand, as he rapped sharply on the moldy wood door. He tilted his face away once the door was opened, revealing a flood of light into the alleyway, but then quickly looked back. The man at the door was much shorter than the trader, he was round in the middle, and wore robes that had long since seen better days.

The little man's beady eyes took in the rich appearance of the trader at his door. In the darkness his robes had appeared to be black, but in the light they were revealed to be a deep indigo blue with veins of silver thread decorating the hem and sleeves.

"Mr. Kingsley?" he asked, extending his hand in greeting.

Kingsley looked at the extended hand in distaste. He whispered, nox, extinguishing his wand and using that opportunity to slide his hands into the pockets of his robes.

"I don't have all night," he said by way of greeting. "Do you have the goods?"

"Y-yes," the beady eyed man stuttered, then opened his door wider. "Come in."

Kingsley's tall frame filled the doorway as he stepped over the threshold, and then walked into the small, rundown house. He looked around at the slovenly shack in disgust. Food encrusted plates lay scattered over the table, and the sound of rats could be heard rusting against the wood floor.

Having his home put under such scrutiny obviously made the small man nervous, and he quickly lead the way to a back room. He fumbled with a large set of keys to the point that Kingsley huffed, and pointed his wand at the door, opening it magically.

The door swung open, and instantly, movement burst from inside the once dark room, as silhouettes scrambled to the corner. Two figures, a boy and girl, sat huddled together, blinking and then shielding their faces against the light. Even with their heads bowed, Kingsley saw that they couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen at the most. Their hair was matted and so dirty, it appeared brown, when it was obviously supposed to be blonde. Their clothes were nothing but rags that hung sadly off their thin bodies.

"Twins," the beady-eyed man stated proudly. "It's a rare find."

Kingsley walked into the room, eyeing the twins who scuttled deeper into the corner when faced with his stare. He tilted his head down to keep his features completely hidden, but you could hear the rage in his voice when he spoke.

"They're in poor shape," he growled, making the other man take a step back. "Hardly worth my money."

"They came to me like that,"

"Don't lie to me!" Kingsley roared, rounding on the man. "I can see they've been here for weeks. The room reeks, and it's obvious they haven't been fed. How can I sell slaves that die of sickness and starvation the second I get them?"

"It's not my fault. . . They were poorly trained," he mumbled backing against the wall. "They needed to be broken."

"I will talk to your financier about this," he said, his voice still edgy with barely contained fury. "These conditions are unacceptable."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell him."

Kingsley nodded, and quickly turned his back on the cowering man to walk towards the huddled children in the corner, seeming to ignore the choked sound of fear the girl made at his advancement.

"Have they've been used?" he asked, kneeling down to peer closer at the girl, who tucked her face against her brother's shoulder.

"Just the girl, but only a few times. . . She's still good." The beady-eyed man said nervously. "You could try her, if you like."

He couldn't hear the stifled curse that came from Kingsley, but the children did as he reached out a hand to touch the girl's dirty head, apparently inspecting her, but the shake in his hand caused her to look up in bafflement.

"Or maybe the boy, he's a bit feisty still, but he could be subdued."

Kingsley made a horrified sound, and shoved his hands back into his pockets, letting the children witness a brief flash of sheer fury in his blue eyes before he closed his emotions off.

"It's no matter to me what your preference --"

"My preference is none of your business," Kingsley whispered through clenched teeth, as he tossed a bag full of coins to the floor. "Make sure your financier keeps our appointment. I have much to discuss with him."

Then, without a backwards glance he pulled a pocket watch from his robes, and let it dangle in front of the wide-eyed children.

"Touch it," he ordered when neither moved "Just one finger will do."

The girl hesitantly reached out her hand, but her brother grabbed her wrist, and eyed Kingsley, his hazel eyes flashing in defiance.

"Don't be stupid, boy," Kingsley barked as he pulled his wand out of his robes. "Don't make her suffer the consequences of your bad decisions."

Both children flinched noticeably, eyeing his wand fearfully, and then obediently reached out to touch the pocket watch. Satisfied, the tall man in elegant robes uttered a spell, and in wisp of air, all three of them disappeared.

 

They fell in a tumble onto soft grass and he twins tried to disentangle themselves as the man, who managed to remain standing, ripped the cloak off his head, and took a deep gasp of air.

The girl blinked at him, seeing brilliant copper toned hair reflected in the light of a nearby house. His eyes, though still angry, didn't seem cruel, but caring, if not a little jaded. He didn't look like she thought he would, and she gaped up at him.

"Stay here," he said, as he started pulling at the buttons on his collar, and tugged the material open like a man being choked to death.

He then left them sitting, stunned, in the garden of what was obviously a private home. It was quite large, yet simple, almost eloquent with it's old fashioned stone structure, and flowered curtains. It was a home children like them, who'd spent years on the streets, had often dreamt of. A home they might have had if their parents hadn't died when they were still so young.

They watched as he pounded on the door, his fist striking the wood so hard, the frame shook.

"We should run now," he brother whispered. "I won't let them get you again."

"He's got a wand," she whispered back, still fearful, but curious as well.

The man turned to them as if he'd read their thoughts, and his blue eyes narrowing in the darkness. "I said stay put. I'm in no mood to go chasing after you."

The door jerked open, and a tall, slim woman appeared. Her hair was indistinguishable in color but the mass of silky waves tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. "Ron, it's the middle of the night! Most people owl first before they--"

"I didn't have time, I would have blown my cover--"

"Cover? I thought you were off this week?"

"I got a tip," he started, and then turned back to the twins just as her brother was moving to flee. "I told you to stay-It's no wonder they starved you!"

The woman gasped, and walked out of the door into the garden, coming within a foot of them. Now they could see that her hair was the same shade of red-gold as the man's, and she was obviously a very near relative of his, maybe a sister.

"Where'd you find them?" the woman whispered, reaching out and brushing her tangled blond hair soothingly off her face, even when the girl flinched away instinctively.

"Knockturn Alley," he said as his voice started to show the first signs of strain.

She turned to the tall man in horror. "Oh no!"

"I was hoping you had room. . . I didn't want to take them to the Ministry orphanage, not if I didn't have to."

"Of course we have room," she said instantly. "I might have to do a little rearranging, but they could share Audrey's old room until they get used to everyone."

"Are you brother and sister?" she asked, looking back and forth to both of them.

"Twins," the red haired man answered when neither of them volunteered the information.

"Oh, did Ron tell you we have twin brothers?" she asked, her voice was so kind neither of them knew how to answer. "They're quite funny. All the other children love it when they come and visit. They know all sorts of neat tricks."

Both children could only look back and forth between the two adults wide-eyed and confused. Neither one was acting like any slave trader they knew, but they didn't dare hope for anything else, life had been too cruel for that.

"I'm Ron," the man said as he kneeled down next to the woman. "And, this is my sister, Ginny. You're safe here. Neither one of us have any intention of hurting you."

"How do we know that," her brother snapped suddenly. "Why should we trust you?"

"Well, mate, I don't think you have much choice."

"You said you were a slave trader. . . You said you wanted to use--"

Ginny sucked in a sharp breath and stared at Ron.

"I was acting. . .Playing a role," he said, as he ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "I do that for my work. . . I help find people."

"You're a spy," her brother said accusingly.

"Would it be so bad if I was. . . Don't you think that's a good thing?"

"If you're so good, why didn't you do something to--to--" her brother choked, and then looked at the ground, obviously trying to hold back tears. "You should have made him pay for what he did."

"Oh, I will, mate, don't you worry," Ron said, his voice now harsh with suppressed anger. "Right then wasn't the time, but I will make sure they pay real soon."

Ginny huffed at him, and then stood. "Ron, you shouldn't talk about such things in front of --"

"Ginny, did you hear where I found them?" he asked incredulously. "If he wants that bastard to pay, I don't have a problem telling him that he will."

Ginny waved him off dismissively, and then reached out once more to the girl, touching her cheek in a way that was so gentle, she couldn't help but let a rouge tear escape. No one wanted to help them, it was too good to be true. A choked sob escaped past her throat, and she started shaking. Memories, horrible memories, suddenly bubbled to the surface, and she could almost feel the rough dirty hands on her skin as her robes were torn off her.

"Shh, it's okay," Ginny whispered, pulling her into a hug, careless that she might get her pretty dressing gown dirty. "It's over."

"I'm just a whore. . . I don't deserve--" she couldn't go on, and she buried her face against the red haired woman's shoulder.

"Oh, no, love, you're a sweet girl," Ginny said, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Come, we'll get you a shower and some food, and you'll feel much better. We can deal with everything else tomorrow."

Ginny turned to Ron. "I'm going to get her taken care of, can you see to him?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Ron nodded, looking at her brother.

"Take him inside," Ginny said, gesturing towards the house. "There is food in the kitchen, and I've got a store of clothes in the cupboard. I'm sure there is something that'll fit him. Just stick him in the downstairs shower."

"Will my sister be all right?" her brother asked, looking uncertainly back and forth between Ginny and Ron.

"She's in good hands," Ron said, his voice suddenly cracking with emotion. "If anyone can help her, Ginny can."

 

"What's you name, mate?" Ron asked, as they headed back towards the house.

The boy hesitated for a second before he stuttered. "H-Harry. . . And my sister is Hannah."

"Harry, huh? My best mate's name is Harry. How about that?" Ron said, as he patted his shoulder. "And you know, he's a jumpy lad, too. Maybe you'll meet him."

"Does he work with you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sometimes. . . But, he's got this big scar right here," Ron gestured to his forehead. "And, everyone makes a fuss about it. So he's lousy at going undercover, but he gets the bad guys real good, even if he's still a mite scrawny."

"Couldn't he cover up the scar?" Harry asked.

"Nah, he's tried. . . But, it's a magical scar, and those are stubborn. They don't like to go away for very long."

"Like Harry Potter," he said, awed.

Ron winked. "Just like him."

"I was named after him, you know," Harry said, and then his voice lowered as he looked back to his sister who was still sniffling and holding onto Ginny. "At least, that's what my mom used to tell me before she died. She said it'd serve me good to be as lucky as Harry Potter."

"She should have thought about that one a little more. I know the bloke and trust me, he's not that lucky." Ron laughed bitterly. "Though, he's got a real talent for getting himself out of bad situations . . So, maybe she did good by you after all."

Harry stopped talking once he reached the house. He was overwhelmed by the grand entrance, and sweeping stairway. Large ornate rugs covered the rich wood floor, and it all seemed like too much space to fit into what he saw of the outside. It wasn't lavishly decorated, but to a boy who had lived on the streets, or in sparse rooms for most his life, it was a palace.

"Nice, huh?" Ron said, leaving the door slightly open.

"Are you rich?" Harry asked. "This place must cost a million galleons."

"Not rich," Ron said, as he put slight pressure on Harry's shoulder and led him towards the kitchen. "Ginny's just got five brothers to hound into helping her fix the place up. She gets Harry to help too, and our dad. . . She's resourceful when she's motivated."

"Do you live here too?"

"No, it's too crowded for me. . .I grew up in a house with seven children. I need a break."

Ron set to work in the large kitchen, and with in a few minutes he set a bowl of soup, and some bread down in front of Harry. His eyes grew wide at the food. It had been longer than he remembered since he had anywhere near this much to eat.

"Eat slow," Ron cautioned, pushing the soup bowl closer. "Start with the soup and do it in small spoonfuls. If not, you'll make yourself sick, and it's not pleasant . . .Trust me."

"You. . .sound like you know," Harry said. "Have you. . . been hungry before."

"A few times, yeah. . . I wouldn't wish it on anyone." Ron sighed, his face showing signs of pity before he shrugged it away. "You'll have to work back up to eating. It takes some time."

Harry cautiously took a sip of his soup, stifling a groan at how good it tasted. It took all the will power he had not to drink it all in one gulp, but for some reason, he trusted this man Ron, and believed him when he said it'd make him sick.

"If you have a family, then why did you go hungry?"

Ron considered him for second before he leaned back in his chair, and tugged on the collar of his robes again.

"Well, one time, my own stupidity got me lost. . . and I spent three days wandering around a swamp. I was injured, so I couldn't disapparate, and I probably would have rotted there if I hadn't accidentally stumbled on to some fairies they helped me find my way out. They're pretty handy when they want to be."

"Three days isn't that long," Harry said between mouthfuls of soup. "That's hardly anytime at all."

"Slow down," Ron said, reaching over to still the shaking spoon in his hand. "No, three days isn't that long, you're right. . .I've gone longer, but I don't usually talk about it."

Harry looked at him incredulously. After all this man knew about his life, he couldn't imagine what excuse he had not to share this story with him. Ron sighed under the scrutiny, obviously giving in.

"About two years ago a mission of mine went bad. . .I was captured by Death Eaters."

"Really?" Harry gasped, almost forgetting his soup. "I didn't think anyone could be caught by Death Eaters and live to tell about it."

"See, that's the thing," Ron said, tugging at the collar of his robes again. "Once you get caught by Death Eaters, and you spend any amount of time with them. . .You really don't want to live to tell about it."

Harry shuddered at his own horrible memories. "I know how that feels."

"Yeah, I bet you do, mate," Ron looked at him sympathetically. "Anyway, I was there for a long time. . . Long enough to know what it feels like to be hungry."

Harry could see the shadows of pain on Ron's face. He knew the look well, he'd made it himself many times, and he's seen it on his sister's face more times than he could count.

"How long were you with them?" he whispered, suddenly frightened that he'd over stepped his boundaries.

Ron shook himself and looked back at Harry for a long moment.

"Four months," he said distantly, then turned his attention to the doorway of the kitchen. "Four really long months."

"Having a bit of light conversation?" Ginny asked as she walked into the kitchen.

"We're just trading war stories." Ron said, and looked to him for confirmation. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, and took a sip of soup before he looked at Ginny, with her long red hair still undone, and her once clean dressing gown smudged with dirt.

"Is Hannah okay?" he asked, feeling guilty all of a sudden. "You know they. . . hurt her. . they. . ."

"We know, mate," Ron said, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"She's okay," Ginny said, as she gathered a few small pieces of fruit and put it on a plate. "We're taking care of her. Don't you worry. This is a good place for her."

"I made soup," Ron said, pointing at the stove. "Try that on her first."

Ginny nodded, and gathered everything before she headed back with a tray of food. "It's late, Ron. . . Not everyone lurks about all night. Get him ready for bed. I have some sleeping draught in the cabinet if you need any. It might help for tonight."

Ron nodded, and waved her off, but Ginny stopped in the doorway. "And no more war stories. . . Or, I'm going to slip a sleeping draught to you, too."

Ron pulled a face behind her back, and young Harry giggled for the first time in years.

 

Sometime later, Ron sat on the porch, rolling a cigarette with shaking hands, stopping only to take a drink out of the large glass of scotch he had sitting on the step next to him. Finally, he lit the cigarette with his wand, took a long drag off it, and then leaned back against the railing. He breathed a sigh of relief, needing something, no matter how bad for him, to ease his jumble of nerves.

"Long night?" Ginny asked from the open doorway.

"You could say that."

There was a swish of cotton, as she settled herself next to him, picked up his drink, and downed most of the scotch.

"Get your own," he complained, jerking the glass back from her, and staring morosely at the lonely ice cubes at the bottom.

Ginny sighed and filled his glass with a bottle he hadn't seen her bring out. She really did think of everything. A very efficient woman, his sister.

She reached over, and took his cigarette from him, claiming it as her own as she leaned against the opposite railing, facing him. Efficient, but very high maintenance, he amended.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked as Ron started rolling another cigarette.

"Not really. . . Living it was enough."

"I have to file the report, just in case they have family looking for them, though I doubt it, poor things."

"Just don't list me as the one who returned them," Ron said warningly. "I don't have clearance for that anymore. They've got me on other stuff full time."

"Yeah, I know. . .So, do you know exactly what happened to her," Ginny sighed, looking tired and sad. "She's a mess, Ron. I don't know how those monsters can do things like this to children."

"They're just evil, Gin," Ron said, feeling sick to his stomach. "You know, the bastard offered her to me right there. . . and when I didn't show interest, he suggested I take the boy. Can you imagine?"

"Unfortunately, I can," Ginny said, running the fingers of her free hand though her hair, and straightening the knots. "Is he okay? Sometimes, the boys, they won't always admit to. . ."

"As far as I can tell, he's fine," Ron said, lighting his second cigarette, and then taking a drink. "I asked the dealer, and he said the boy was untouched, but you know they lie."

"Why didn't you do something tonight? Why did you let him go?" Ginny asked, her voce sharp and malicious. "He should pay for what he-"

"I'll get him, but I'm trying to get the fucker financing all these little trading dens. I want the big fish. The little guys will just keep popping up as long as there's someone supporting them."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Ginny said, leaning forward to squeeze his knee. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I know you risk your job by doing this. . ."

"Its not a big deal. They don't bother me. I'm too good at what I do, and I cover my tracks well." He shrugged. "Besides, Harry Potter is my best mate. That deserves some special treatment."

"Speaking of Harry," Ginny started, and then reached for his glass again, drinking most of its contents for a second time. "Where is he? I feel like I haven't seen him in months. He hardly ever stops by, and everyone always loves it when he visits."

Ron frowned and looked out towards the garden, watching the a few stray pixies play in the pond he and Charlie had spent days working on. They'd planted herbs said to repel the bothersome creatures, but it hadn't worked, and Ginny hadn't complained much since the children liked them.

"He's been with Hermione a lot."

"Oh?" Ginny arched a curious eyebrow and smirked in a way that revealed her relation to the twins "Do you think they're off having a bit of how's your father?"

"No!" Ron snapped, glaring at his sister, and taking his drink back. "He says she just needs some extra help with things."

"Hermione?" Ginny said incredulously. "Need help? Come Ron, you don't think she's changed that much, do you? She's never needed help with anything, more like she has an itch that needs to be scratched."

"Well, how should I know why he's hanging around with her?" he yelled too loudly, earning him a warning glare from Ginny, who tilted her head, indicating sleeping children. "It's not my business."

"Why don't you just write to her, Ron. . . It's obvious you still love her."

"I don't," he croaked, knowing it sounded like a lie.

"Right," Ginny said, and rolled her eyes. "I've never known two people who were more bloody stubborn--"

Ron laughed. "Oh, that's rich coming from you."

"At least I indulge myself from time to time," Ginny said smugly. "You've been uptight for ages now, I bet you haven't had a good shag in a year."

"Ugh, Gin," Ron said, pulling a face. "Do you really want to know about those things?"

"The twins are taking bets that you've switched sides. . . They say you don't even look at women anymore. You didn't used to be like this, what happened?"

"Merlin help me!" Ron barked, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Don't I have a right to any privacy? What'd I do to be cursed with such a meddlesome family?"

"Percy has privacy. . .Loads of it," Ginny dead-paned, then pointed at his pocket. "Roll me another one. . .I haven't had a fag in ages."

It was on the tip of Ron's tongue to point out that she'd just had one, but decided against it and pulled the tin of tobacco out of his pocket. "Percy can go fuck himself," Ron spat bitterly. "I hope he drowns in his privacy."

"I miss him," Ginny sighed as she took a sip of his drink, and stared wistfully into the night. "I miss Hermione too. It's a shame we all lost touch."

"You miss everyone," Ron observed as he licked the paper on Ginny's cigarette, smoothed it out and handed it to her. "You're too soft hearted by far."

"I hate this war. I'm so sick of it."

"You and me both," he said, cringing. "Blimey, what a shithole I found them in tonight. I about killed the fucker when he said the girl was used."

"I wish you would have," Ginny said, her voice every bit as furious as Ron's. "I'd like to go back and do it for you."

Ron gave a half laugh. "You know, Gin, I don't think he'd know what hit him if I set you on him. . . With all that anger, you'd probably do a far better job than I could."

"I doubt it." Ginny eyed her brother for a second, her features showing both pity and remorse. "You play the role of vigilante shockingly well."


	7. Chapter 7

Harry sat at his desk and stared around at the piles of paperwork that had stacked up around him. He didn't know what he had been thinking to accept the last promotion they had offered him. True, he was head of his Auror division, but paperwork certainly wasn't his strong suit, and the higher up you went, the more paperwork that came with it.

Fuck it, he didn't care. He cleared a space by stacking the papers into higher, more condensed piles until he could finally see the bottom of his desk. When he did, his eyes fell to his calendar, more specifically, to a date on it, the seventeenth of July. He'd filled in the space by scrawling Hermione in big letters, and seeing it so bold, made his stomach clench. That was only a week away

The seventeenth was Hermione's due date. It was enough to make his mind reel. The idea was still foreign to him. Even after watching her stomach steadily grow outwards, he'd never really accepted what was really happening.

Hermione was going to have a baby . . . alone.

Christ, he'd give anything to get his hands on the bastard who'd left her. What was worse, she had defended him. Hermione claimed that it was her decision, saying she was happy, thrilled even, about her pregnancy, no matter that she was on her own. But, Harry wasn't convinced. Sometimes he caught her looking out the window, or staring off into space, and her eyes were filled with such longing it nearly broke his heart.

"Hey, mate. . . Got time for one of the little people?"

Harry snapped out of his daze to see Ron standing at his door with two cups of tea in his hand. He was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt when he should have been wearing his Auror robes. If it was anyone else, Harry might remind him to wear his uniform, but Ron would have just balked at him and ignored the order anyway.

"Yeah, come in," Harry said, working to clear away more papers as Ron sat down across from him. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. I had something to talk to you about."

Giving up on the paperwork, Harry picked up the cup of tea Ron had set on his desk. He took a sip, and then stared steadily at his best friend.

Ron arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"I got a report about an incident in Knockturn Alley," Harry started, and then waited to see if he got a reaction from Ron, but of course, he didn't. "A Ministry official was critically injured. . . Treyman, I think his name was -- comes from old money. Have you heard about it? It was in the paper."

Ron shrugged. "I don't read the paper. . . Too depressing."

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, then?"

"Not a clue," Ron said without missing a beat. "Why, do you need help? I haven't worked an assault case since I got started on reconnaissance. I'm a bit rusty."

"No, I just found it strange. . . He was found with another man, one rumored to be involved in child slavery. They were both beaten pretty severely, it was almost like someone was trying to punish them."

"Maybe they deserved it, then. . . Child slavery is nasty business."

"Maybe," Harry agreed, as took another sip of tea. "But, there's no proof that Treyman was involved in such things and now he's too terrified to make a statement in his defense."

"I'm sure there was plenty of proof. . .Otherwise, why bother? What was a man like that doing in Knockturn Alley to begin with? I doubt he was looking for flesh eating slug repellant."

Harry would have pressed the topic further, but a knock brought his attention to the door and he looked up to see Ginny Weasley standing just outside the entrance to his office. She had on green robes today, ones that her mother would frown at for being to tight across her breasts and hips, but any man with a pulse would have to be blind not to appreciate her in them. The woman was too attractive for her own good and all the more dangerous for knowing it. Like a ray of sunshine she breezed into his drab office and pulled up a chair next to her brother.

"Ginny," Harry greeted. "You look nice today."

"Thank you." She beamed at him, flashing a radiant smile that made his heart rate jump up. "You look nice yourself. I was just telling Ron how I never see you. . . I've missed you."

"Oh. . ." Harry said, feeling his face heat up like a schoolboys and hating that she could get this reaction out of him, especially in front of Ron. "Well, I've been busy."

"I heard," she said, her smile transforming into an amused pout. "Spending all sorts of spare time with Hermione. I'm jealous."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She was in rare form today, practically oozing with charm and sexual energy, which usually meant one thing.

"Oh Merlin, she wants money," Ron said, voicing Harry's thoughts out loud. "Hold on to your vault key, Harry."

Ginny smacked Ron's shoulders, looking thoroughly put out for about one second before she turned back to Harry.

"That's not the reason I came here. Did Ron tell you I've got two new children? Twins-a boy and a girl. Very sweet," she said, and then tossed her hair behind her. "I had to file a report on them. . . Seeing you is just a bonus."

"How'd you get the children?"

"Would you believe they just showed up on my door step?" Ginny said, looking appropriately stunned.

"I can't hardly believe it, " Harry deadpanned. "I think you must have more needy children accidentally show up on your doorstep than all of England combined."

"It's like divine intervention," Ginny said angelically. "Or perhaps an angel of mercy guiding their way to freedom."

Ron choked a laugh back, ruining what was otherwise a very good performance in Harry's opinion, one of her best.

"Give her the money, mate. I can't stand it," Ron said, pulling a sickened face. "Does she lay this shit on you every time she wants something?"

"Not every time," Harry said, somewhat disappointed at Ron's interruption. Ginny was extremely appealing when she was after something. "It depends on what she's looking for."

"So, Miss Weasley." He turned to Ginny and leaned forward on his desk, determined to ignore Ron. "I believe you were about to ask for a donation to your organization?"

"It's for a good cause," Ginny said, positively beaming now. "And with the tax breaks the Ministry is offering for donations made to charities supporting war victims, it practically saves you money."

"Does it now?" Harry said, enjoying himself immensely. "Well, I can hardly say no to that."

"Plus, I'd be eternally grateful and you know I'd make good use of the funds."

That he did. She may be a manipulative little minx, but she used her powers for good, of that there was no question. No matter that she'd probably drained half his fortune out of him, he knew every penny went to where she said it did, and caring for orphaned children was a cause he certainly supported.

"How about I stop by this weekend and drop the money off?"

"That'd be perfect. You can visit with the children," Ginny said brightly, standing up from her seat, and smoothing out her robes. "They love when you stop by and my new boy was named after you. It's something he's very proud of. Ron will tell you. It'd make his year if he could meet you in person."

"It really would make his year," Ron said earnestly. "He's had a hard go of it. Both the kids were starved near to death and abused something awful."

"Abused by who?"

"They escaped from traders," Ginny sighed, no longer acting, but very genuinely saddened. "I still haven't got all the details out of them but it's grim, to be sure."

"And they managed to escape all on their own?" Harry asked skeptically. "That's an amazing feat for anyone, let alone children."

"I told you. . .An angel of mercy."

"An angel of mercy?" Harry asked, casting a glance at Ron. "Sounds more like something a knight might do . . . An errant knight."

"I'd hardly call saving children, errant, Harry," Ginny said, leveling her gaze at him.

"Saving children is admirable. . . Revenge is errant," Harry amended.

"Well, I don't know anything about that," Ginny said, undisturbed. "I can only tell you that it was a blessing they escaped, no matter by what means."

"I suppose Ron's been with you all this week . . . helping," Harry said, deciding to cut to the chase and stop with the word games.

"Of course, he's done loads around the house. Wait until you see all we've got accomplished."

"You'd testify to it?"

"With my dying breath."

"With all that loyalty, Ginny, you should have been a Hufflepuff," Harry said, unable to resist grinning.

"Or a Slytherin," she said, turning to leave. "Take your pick."

 

 

Harry was still distracted when he Apparated to his cabin later that night. Ron involved himself in things that were far too dangerous, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Besides, if Harry were honest with himself, he'd like to be out there with him. He hated the bureaucracy as much as Ron, but he just wasn't free to act on his beliefs like Ron was. Too much was expected of him. After all, it was his fault the war had started to begin with. He had let Voldemort come back. That was his burden to bear. He didn't dare judge Ron, who was doing what he felt was right, even if he did risk Azkaban because of it. All Harry could do was make sure the prat didn't get himself caught.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts and was disturbed to notice the door to his cabin was ajar. Harry drew his wand and slowly pushed it open. He hadn't been able to stop by for almost two days and fear gripped him when he saw the cabin half empty with many of Hermione's things missing.

A noise came from the bedroom. He quickly turned with reflexes of a natural born seeker, intent on hexing whoever had broken in. He winced when Hermione screeched and dropped a box she was carrying.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, gripping her chest and taking a deep breath. "You scared me half to death."

Harry lowered his wand, still frowning. "I thought someone broke in."

"Why on earth would you think that?" Hermione said, and then tried to awkwardly bend over and pick up things that had fallen out of the box, but her large stomach hampered her. She gave up in her effort to pick up everything as she drew her wand out of her robe pocket and gave it an impatient swish. "Wingardium Leviosa."

"What are you doing?" Harry asked apprehensively, looking around and noticing for the first time the boxes scattered around the cabin. "It looks like you're moving."

"I am," Hermione said brightly. She went back into her bedroom and then emerged with another box that looked far too heavy for her to carry in her condition. "My transfer finally went through. . .I even secured a flat in my old building. . . Isn't it wonderful?"

 

"No," Harry said incredulously as he took the box from her and set it down on the table. "It's not wonderful at all! In case you forgot . . .You're having a baby in a few days. You can't take off for France now."

Undeterred, Hermione started working on another box, casting more levitating charms and directing books into it. Harry stared at her, mouth agape, until finally she turned to him.

"Oh, stop fretting . . . I won't leave until after I have the baby. I just wanted to get a head start on packing."

Feeling a little better, Harry reached out and took her wand from her, wanting her full attention. "I just don't know how comfortable I am with you living so far away now. "

"Oh, but this opportunity is perfect for me. I'll be able to do most of my work from home, so I won't have to find a nanny for the baby," Hermione said as she finally sat down at the table and started rubbing her back. "I don't know what you're worried about. With your connections at the Ministry, you can get a Portkey faster than anyone."

"You shouldn't be working so hard," Harry chastised when he saw that her features were drawn and tense. "You know I would have helped you."

"I've just been so anxious the past few days . . . I want to get it all done and I really am looking forward to moving back to Paris. I hadn't realized how much I missed it."

Harry didn't know how thrilled he was about this move. It was true he had suggested it. France was far safer than England. It was just so far, but he knew better than to argue. Once Hermione made up her mind, there was no stopping her.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Yes, I just . . . have a lot going on at work," he answered, and it was partially true. "Sometimes I hate my job."

"Sometimes we all hate our jobs, Harry. It's not easy having so many people counting on you, but you do it well. . . You know you do." She pulled a face, wincing and still rubbing her back. "I can't wait until this baby is born. . . It's really bothering me today."

"The baby?"

"My back. . .It's killing me," Hermione complained, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "It's never been this bad."

"You shouldn't have been carrying all those boxes around," Harry snapped. Lately, her behavior had been borderline irrational. "You know better."

Hermione just nodded in agreement, and sighed. "I think I'll go lay down. . . You don't mind, do you?" Hermione asked guiltily.

"No, go. . .I'm not going anywhere. I might just kip on the couch tonight."

Hermione nodded and struggled to stand, waving off Harry when he reached to help her. "I'll just rest for a bit."

Harry nodded, unconcerned as she went off to bed. He'd rather have her sleeping then prattling around the cabin, packing and cleaning. Women were always an enigma to him, but he'd discovered that pregnant woman were doubly so. He'd long since stopped questioning all the odd things Hermione did.

 

~*~

 

Hermione had slept more than a bit. Harry thought of waking her so she could eat, but decided she needed sleep more. So he heated himself some dinner and sat outside for a fag. He didn't dare smoke in the house, Hermione hated it more than life itself and she lectured him about it constantly.

He knew it was bad, but it helped ease his anxiety and that was worth the lung cancer in his opinion. Most of the Aurors smoked these days. War wasn't only horrifying; it was boring on many occasions. When he and Ron had first started at the Ministry, there had been nights when they'd do nothing but sit and wait for hours in some hidden spot watching for Death Eater activity. Smoking killed time. It gave them something to do with their hands when the fear and nervousness made them shake.

Absentmindedly, he stared out towards the woods as he smoked his cigarette. He liked the forest. It was quiet and peaceful. Hermione living there had given him an excuse to visit the cabin more often. He thought of moving out of his flat in Diagon Alley and moving into the cabin permanently after Hermione left, but he didn't dare. He felt like he had to stay firmly planted in the Wizarding World at all times, always on guard for the final battle that would eventually take place.

"Harry."

Startled, he turned towards the door, seeing Hermione standing there, looking pale. He'd known her long enough to know when she was worried.

"What's wrong?"

"It's time," she whispered, looking both apprehensive and uncomfortable.

He stared at her blankly, not understanding. "Time for what?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation and then spoke slowly. "For the baby. . . I think it's time for it to be born."

Harry swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. "I thought it wasn't until next week. . .You told me the seventeenth. I marked it on my calendar."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, they don't always come right when you want them to," Hermione snapped as she stepped out of the cabin. Then she stopped, taking a sudden sharp breath and held her stomach. She looked wild eyed from Harry to the ground. "Oh no."

Her breathing was irregular, making Harry very nervous. "What?"

"I think. . ."

"You think what?" he asked anxiously.

With a blush that could rival any of Ron's, Hermione looked up at him. "I think my water broke."

"What?!" he gasped in horror as he too looked at the ground seeing a small pool of water at her feet. Trying not to think of where the water had come from, he looked back up at Hermione. "I - I don't think I can do this, Hermione. I'm not ready."

"Well, it doesn't matter if you can do it or not. . . It's happening," Hermione said and then turned to walk back into the cabin. "I'm going to freshen up, and then I'm going to the Hospital. . . It's up to you if you want to come or not."

 

Harry thought he had somewhat composed himself by the time they had made it to St. Mungo's. Babies were born everyday, weren't they? It wasn't such a big deal and Hermione was the most capable woman he knew, she'd probably be finished in no time.

Funny, but that didn't help his nerves and there was no smoking in the hospital. He had to settle for tapping his wand against the table in the waiting room and fantasying about strangling the man who had created this situation. He had killed men before, he could really drag it out if he had the mind too, make it really, really painful.

"Mr. Potter?"

His head snapped up and he looked expectantly at the nurse. "Yeah?"

"Miss Granger asked to see you."

"Is the baby here?"

A funny look crossed the nurse's face, but she smiled at him indulgently. "No. . . She just got here. It usually takes several hours, especially with the first one."

"Oh, right," Harry said, feeling stupid. "Is she okay?"

"She seems fine," the woman assured him as she led him down the hallway of the birthing ward. "Is this your baby?"

"No!" he said quickly, making the woman peer at him oddly and he cleared his throat uncomfortably "I mean, no, she's just my friend. . .My best friend."

"That's sweet," the woman said, giving him a lingering look before she stopped at the door to the room Hermione was obviously in. "She's lucky to have you. . . Did she lose her husband?"

Harry paused, feeling his heart clench. How many women must come in here alone because the war had taken their husbands from them? A pang of guilt went through him as he looked at the woman, not knowing how to answer.

"S-something like that. . ."

"We'll don't worry. . . We'll take good care of her," she said and pushed the door open.

He walked in and saw Hermione lying in bed in her hospital robes. The room was filled with many things he knew he didn't want to know about and again he had force down the anxiety that had him wanting to claw at his pocket for a cigarette.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked nervously, deciding to ignore everything but Hermione.

"Fine," Hermione said brightly and sat up a little as he pulled up a chair next to her bed. "I'm a little nervous. . . but, I'm excited too, aren't you?"

Harry didn't really think excited described what he felt, but he gave a strained smiled anyway. "Sure."

"Oh, ouch," she squeaked all of a sudden, and shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "These contractions are really starting to pinch. "

"Maybe they can give you something for the pain," Harry offered and turned his head to look for the nurse he'd talked to earlier.

"No, most Witches have their babies without pain potions," Hermione said, shifting again and wincing. "It's better for the baby that way. I'll be okay, I've been studying all the breathing techniques."

"Does that help?" Harry asked uncertainly, he'd been in intense pain before, and he didn't see the advantage of knowing how to breathe properly.

"Oh yes," Hermione nodded between a few deep breaths. "My birthing instructor said that it's a beautiful, natural experience. . .See, I feel better already."

Harry watched her, arching a skeptical eyebrow as she explained about focal points and relaxation methods between breaths. It was actually kind of funny and for a brief moment Harry missed Ron, knowing he'd probably tell Hermione she was mad if she thought huffing in and out like that was doing a damn bit of good.

Hours ticked by and Harry and Hermione actually did quite a bit of talking and laughing between her bouts of huffing and puffing. Hospitals made him nervous, but the Birthing ward wasn't so bad. Everyone was much more cheerful here than the other sections he'd been in.

Over all, having a baby was all right, Harry mused as he sat in the lobby several hours later, waiting while the healer checked Hermione's progress. Everyone was so full of excitement. New life gave people hope and he hadn't been around that sort of optimism in a while.

"It won't be long," the Healer said to him as he stepped into the hallway again. "Things will start moving quickly now."

The excitement was catching and Harry walked back into the room feeling eager. He sat down next to Hermione, seeing that her breathing was indeed more labored.

"The healer said it won't be long," he said when her features strained in pain and she grabbed his hand. "You're almost done."

Hermione nodded, but didn't speak, just continued to breath and Harry winced when her grip on his hand became painful. Then, out of the blue, Hermione stopped breathing and let out a great sob. Her eyes squeezed shut and her head tossed back against the pillow.

"I can't do it, Harry," she gasped, and looked to him. "It hurts too much. . . Tell them I want drugs."

"But, I thought the breathing. . . it. . . "

"Bugger the breathing, it's not working anymore!" Hermione snapped sharply and the tossed her head to the side and sobbed again. "Please. . . It won't stop."

And suddenly, Harry didn't feel excited anymore.

 

Things did move along as quickly as the healer had said. Only now Hermione had abandoned her breathing and was left gasping and crying in pain.

"I'm going to die, Harry," Hermione sobbed, and then stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, taking in huge gasps of air that were only punctuated by cries of pain. "Oh god, make it stop! I'm never having sex again. . .I swear."

Harry silently agreed with her. He didn't think he'd ever want to touch a woman after this. Not at the risk of causing anything remotely this awful. He was always careful, but you never knew.

Hermione screamed again, and Harry turned to one of the nurses now in the room. "Can't you give her something. . .I know you've got pain potions in this place."

"It's not good for baby," the nurse said, and then handed him a cool washcloth for Hermione's forehead.

Harry threw the washcloth down, furious. "Forget the baby. . .Look at her. She can't take it!"

"She's doing fine," the nurse said calmly and handed him another washcloth. "This is all very natural."

There was that word again and Harry was sick of hearing it. He couldn't take her screams anymore. It was like watching someone under the Cruciatis curse.

"Fuck natural," Harry said, jumping up from his seat to stare down at the nurse. "Get the healer in here now!"

Being Harry Potter was good for something. The nurse obeyed and left in search of the Healer, who appeared soon after, red faced and out of breath.

"Is there a problem?" he wheezed, looking apprehensively from Hermione to Harry.

"Yes, there's a problem," Harry said as Hermione screamed again. "She's in too much pain and don't you dare tell me it's natural!"

"I'll check her again," the healer said soothingly. "Why don't you step outside?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said, not really caring about privacy anymore.

The healer shrugged and moved to check on Hermione. Harry looked away from what the Healer was doing. Instead, he busied himself with brushing the wild curls away from Hermione face, which was drenched with sweat and tears.

"Oh Harry, I'm so stupid. . ." she cried and she seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he was still in the room while the doctor checked on her. "I can't do this alone. . . I miss him. I want him here."

"I know, Love, I'm sorry," Harry said and meant it. His heart felt like it was breaking.

"It hurts so bad," she gasped again. Her head tossed back against the pillow and she screamed louder than before and then she broke into racking sobs that shook her whole frame. "I want my mum, Harry. . . I want her back. . . and I want Ron here. . . It's not fair. . ."

She rambled on between screams of pain, and Harry couldn't help but look back at the Healer, desperate for some assurance that this was all almost over. What he saw wasn't reassuring, the Healer looked panicked as he stood and spoke quickly to the nurses behind him.

"What is it?. . . What's wrong?" Harry asked anxiously as he abandoned Hermione temporarily to talk with the Healer.

"We are going to have to ask you to step outside," the man said as his eyes darted nervously from the scar on Harry's forehead back to Hermione. "Trust me, it's usually better for the fathers not to see this next part."

"I'm not leaving! Muggle fathers watch their babies being born all the time. . . I know they do," Harry said, almost forgetting that it wasn't his baby.

"Well, we aren't Muggles, are we?" the healers said more assertively. "You need to step outside."

Hermione screamed again and Harry turned back to her, but one of the nurses gripped his shoulder gently and walked him towards the door. "Come, Mr. Potter. . . You don't want to cause a scene. It will only make it harder for her. We know what we are doing."

"What's wrong with her?" Harry asked the woman desperately when he found himself in the hallway. "Please. . . She's about the only family I have. . . You have to tell me."

The Nurse sighed, looking towards the room door once, and then pulled him to the side. "She's a small woman. . .And this baby is much bigger than we expected. She could have a hard time."

"Will. . .will she be okay?"

The woman looked towards the room and then patted his arm reassuringly. "I need to go back in. . . I'm sure she'll be fine."

Then Harry was left alone in the hallway. Stunned and horrified, he sunk to the ground and rested his head in his hands to stop the shake in them. He thought of owling Mrs. Weasley. Surely she'd know about this sort of thing, but he didn't dare leave. Besides, the Weasleys' hadn't seen Hermione since she was a girl. They all knew Harry still kept in touch with her, but it would still be a slightly odd request and Hermione wouldn't appreciate him spilling her secrets in a moment of panic.

Time moved on slowly, crawling by at snail's pace. So intense was his fear that Harry actually felt sick to his stomach. He'd dealt with this sort of heart stopping anxiety before, but he never got used to it. Harry found himself once again thinking of Ron. He'd be handy to have around right now. He always seemed to know how to lighten the mood. Even at their lowest moments in prison camp, hadn't Ron been the one to make him laugh?

Harry shook his head, wondering where such dark thoughts were coming from. He hadn't even told Hermione about what happened to he and Ron four years ago. At that point in his life, it wasn't odd for him to be gone for six months at a time. It was easy to make excuses for the scars and weight loss considering what he did for a living.

Forcing himself back to the present, Harry watched nurses and healers dash in and out of the door to Hermione's room, but he was never able to get them to stop and tell him what was going on. He stayed where he was, steadfastly refusing to be moved, and could have cared less when people walked by, looking at him oddly as he sat on the floor. Rumors of Harry Potter being mad were always flying about. Why not fuel them a little more?

After what seemed like years, the first Healer walked out into the hallway. Harry jumped up when he saw him and felt his stomach lurch at the look of concern on the man's face. The door was still partially open and Harry stopped, feeling stunned when he heard a baby's cry from inside.

"It's a boy," the Healer said, in answer to his unspoken question. "A very healthy boy."

Harry nodded, not sure how to process the news. "And Hermione?"

"She had a difficult time. She lost a lot of blood."

"What does that mean?" Harry snapped, understanding the fine art of avoiding hard truths better than anyone.

"Does she have any other family? A mother who could help you with the baby."

"No, she's just got me," Harry whispered, feeling his heart clench. "Why?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Ms. Granger had some complications. It was touch and go for a while," the Healer said, obviously sensing Harry's impatience. "I won't lie to you, Mr. Potter, we nearly lost her. Her hemorrhaging was very severe."

"But she's okay now. . . Right?" Harry asked weakly.

"She's a strong woman. I think she'll recover, but she'll be very weak. She'll need all the help she can get."

Harry nodded, still stunned and shaken. "I can take some time off work."

The Healer frowned at him suddenly. "Do you know anything about taking care of babies, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt his face pale. He'd never even held a baby before, and he certainly had no idea how to care for one, especially one so new.

"I'm sure we'll manage," Harry said, telling himself that as long as Hermione was alive, then everything else was fine.

"Well, then. . . Why don't you come in?" the Healer said brightly. "You can hold your new. . . son."

Harry hesitated at the door and turned back to the man. "He's not really mine, you know."

"I didn't think so. . . His coloring was a bit off to be yours." The Healer smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Mr. Potter. I feel lucky to have met you."

"Thanks," Harry said as he walked into the room.

Once he saw Hermione he forgot about everything else. She was so pale and still, it was scary. He quietly pulled a chair up next to her, not even seeing the nurses busing around him.

Her eyes were closed and for a second he thought she had died and no one had noticed, but then she blinked and looked up at him. Her eyes were dull, and he didn't think he'd ever seen anyone look so drained, even in prison camp. Still, she smiled at him.

"Hi," she whispered. "Did you see him?"

Harry frowned, but then he heard the baby crying and he realized what she meant. "No. . .not yet. I was more worried about you."

Even as he said a nurse came up with a buddle of cloth, reaching to hand it to Harry. He tried to refuse, but the nurse would have none of it.

"It's good for her to see the baby. . . She'll recover much faster," she said, placing the baby in his arms before he could protest. "There you go. . .Just mind his head and you'll be fine."

"Mind his head?" Harry asked, panicked, as he tried to hold the bundle and not hurt it. "Maybe someone else ought to---"

"Look," Hermione whispered, licking her parched lips and staining to see the baby Harry was holding. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Uncomfortable, Harry looked down at the baby in his arms. He didn't think beautiful was quite it. His face looked sort of red and squashed and the rest of him was hidden under the hat and blankets he was wrapped in. Still, Harry realized that this was a little person, a real being, someone who wasn't here before but was now and that was amazing.

"Hermione, wow. . ." he said, staring longer at the baby and forgetting to be uncomfortable. "Look at what you made."

"Yeah," she said, reaching over the bed to gently touch his cheek, making the baby squirm a little. "He's perfect. I love him so much already. . . It's amazing. Just like that. . . I have a family again."

"Yeah, just like that," Harry said, feeling awed. He looked back up at Hermione and his amazement waned. She looked like death warmed over. "How do you feel?"

"A lot better then I did," Hermione sighed, closing her eyes again. "That was a lot. . . harder. . . than I thought it was going to be."

Harry almost laughed. "That's the understatement of the century."

"There were a few moments there. . . I thought I might not make it," Hermione said in a heavy voice, sounding half asleep already. "But, I couldn't leave him alone in the world. . . I knew he needed me."

Unwillingly, Harry thought of his own mother, of what mums in general would do for their children and another wave of admiration stuck him.

"Hermione, I think you're incredible."

She smiled with her eyes still closed and that was the only indication she gave that she'd heard him. Knowing that Hermione needed her rest, Harry looked back at the baby, finding that on closer inspection he really was quite cute. In fact, as he stared, Harry was surprised to discover that he started to look more than cute and was actually the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. A surge of love he'd never expected flowed over him and he was stuck with an insane need to insure his safety.

The baby blinked up at him with dark eyes, mewing quietly as Harry carefully unwrapped the first layer of blankets and counted five tiny fingers on one hand and then the other. He looked quite normal in fact, just very small and helpless. Remembering what the doctor said about his coloring, Harry lifted the blue hat the baby was wearing and felt his heart clench when he stared down in shock at the cap of orange hair standing up at all angles.

"Hermione, this baby has red hair."

She didn't answer, and Harry looked up to see Hermione had fallen back to sleep. He would have woken her to ask once again who the father was but the baby chose that moment to let out a furious wail, letting Harry know in no uncertain terms that he was not happy.

"What do I do?" Harry asked wildly, turning to the nurse for help.

"You unwrapped him. . . He's probably cold," the woman said, leaning down to retrieve the crying baby. "And I'm sure he's hungry too, a big lad like him."

"He looks small to me," Harry said, watching as the woman effortlessly rewrapped the baby while cooing softly to him.

"Nearly ten pounds. . . He's the biggest baby we've seen all month. . . She's so tiny," the nurse said, indicating Hermione who was still soundly sleeping. "His Da must have been a big man."

'"I don't. . ." Harry floundered, still trying to get over his surprise.

"And with a temper to boot. . . Must be all that red hair, eh?" she went on in a soft voice, talking to the baby. "You'll be eating your poor mum out of house and home soon. . . Yes, you will."

Harry was still speechless, watching her bounce and talk to the baby. The night had worn on him and it all felt like too much to process. Ideas and doubts were forming in his mind, things that he would have thought were impossible, but now he wasn't so sure.

"You look tired, Mr. Potter," the nurse said, pulling him from his thoughts as the baby quieted down. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep."

Harry shook his head. "I can't leave her. . . them. . . I can just sleep here."

"Oh, don't be silly. We'll take good care of them. You go get some rest and come back bright and fresh later."

"I couldn't. . ."

"The hospital is safe. The wards we have here are nearly as strong as Hogwarts," she said, as though reading his mind.

Harry knew that was true, Bill Weasley had set up many of the protections himself, and Harry trusted Bill's wards. Hermione looked like she'd be sleeping for a while. If he left now, he could be back before she woke up.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Harry said, almost like a warning. "If anything happens. . ."

"Nothing will happen," the nurse said, smiling indulgently at him. "Go, we'll take care of the wee one until you get back.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Harry found that once he left the hospital, he wasn't tired anymore even with his lack of sleep. He thought of going home to freshen up, but instead he found himself on the front porch of Ginny's home. He wasn't really sure why. Perhaps it was an instinct, when life got too hard, go to Ginny.

Plus, he had questions and Ginny was the keeper of many secrets, not just his, but her brothers' as well. He could go to the source, but Ginny was easier.

It was very early, not even seven by Harry's guess, but he didn't have a watch so he couldn't be sure. Still, Ginny's door always seemed to be open to him, no matter what the hour so he knocked softly, not wanting to wake the children.

A minute later the lock clicked and the door cracked open. Ginny peered out between the small space, opening it all the way when she saw him and smiling brilliantly.

"Harry, this is a surprise," she said, then took in his disheveled state and frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Ginny, how many times have I told you not to open the door unless you are sure who's there," Harry chastised as he walked into the house. "You can never be too careful."

"Oh posh, it's fine. . . I knew it was you," Ginny said dismissively. "Besides, Ron's here."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "Why's he here so early?"

"That damn water heater of mine broke again. . . You know I'm no good at those sort of repair charms. I fumble them all up," Ginny sighed, closing the door and locking it. "You'd think with six brothers I'd be more handy."

"I wouldn't worry about it. . .You're pretty handy with other things."

Harry took in her appearance for a second, letting his eyes glide over her body, taking in her mint green dressing down tied securely at the waist and white slippers. Her mane of red hair was still mused from sleep, flowing in a wild mass over her shoulders and down her back. He promised himself last night he'd never have sex again, not after seeing what Hermione had gone through, but he conveniently forgot it now. Ginny was always a sight first thing in the morning.

"You look good," he said, unable to taper the low hitch in his voice.

"Thanks." She smiled, looking him over just as boldly. "Wish I could say the same. . . You look dead on your feet. What have you been up to?"

"I had a long night."

"So I see. . . Anyone I know?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "That's twice this week you've made me jealous."

Harry laughed. "No, nothing like that."

"Mmm hmm," Ginny said disbelievingly, turning towards the kitchen. "Come, I'm making breakfast. The kids aren't up yet so you can still eat in peace."

Obediently, Harry followed, unable to resist the lure of Ginny's cooking. Her food was nearly as good as her mother's and that was saying something. It should be illegal for a woman who looked that good to be able to cook too. It could make a bloke forget he had priorities.

Ron was sitting at the table in Ginny's kitchen, contently drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. He looked up when they walked in, smiling when he saw Harry.

"Hey mate, what are you doing here?"

"I just. . ." Harry said, feeling at a loss for words. "Well, I was. . ."

"Never mind, I don't want to know." Ron held up his hand to stop Harry's mumbling. "Want some coffee? I just made it."

"Sure," Harry said, feeling like he could certainly need some. "Did you get the water heater fixed?"

"For now, but it's old. . . The heating charms just don't stick anymore. I'm kicking myself for not putting in a new one when she bought the place. I'm sick of messing with the damn thing." Ron got up and poured a second cup of coffee, placing it in front of Harry. "Anyway, what's up with you? You look like shit."

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say exactly what he'd been up to as he stared at Ron, whose red hair was also mused from sleep. It wasn't quite the shock of orange that Hermione's baby had but it was close, and Harry reminded himself, Ron's hair had darkened with age.

"I just had a long night."

Ron smiled deviously as he sat back down. "Anyone I know?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, looking back and forth between Ron and Ginny. "I think you two spend too much time together. . . You're starting to think alike."

"That IS scary," Ron agreed as he pulled a tin out of his pocket and started rolling a cigarette. "How sad is it that the only woman I spend time with anymore is my sister?"

"Pretty sad," Ginny said, turning from the stove to glare at Ron. "I told you not to smoke in here. . . I don't want my kitchen smelling like an ashtray."

"And she's a nag at that. . . Harry, why don't you marry her and take her off my hands? You can mess with the water heater. . . Dragging my arse out of bed at five in the morning because she couldn't take a hot shower. . ."

Harry felt his face heat up, and he stared down at his coffee to hide it. Ron's statement hit too close to home. He'd entertained the thought of marrying Ginny more than once. Maybe if things were different. . .

"Leave him alone," Ginny snapped at Ron as she put a plate of food in front of Harry and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "And who says I want to get married. . . Being tied to some man so he can tell me what to do and how to do it. . . No thank you."

"Yeah, I wouldn't wish you on him anyway. . . I like him too much," Ron said as he lit a cigarette with his wand. "Maybe we ought to call Draco Malfoy and see if he's available."

"That's not funny," Harry said, looking up from his food to glare at Ron. Just the thought of Ginny with Malfoy turned his stomach.

"Ugh, Ron," Ginny said, waving her hand in front of him to chase away the smoke. "Harry is trying to eat. . . Go outside."

"Forget it," Ron said in annoyance as he put out his cigarette. "Lot of thanks I get for helping you out. Can't even have a bleeding fag with my coffee."

"You'll live," Ginny said, going back to the stove, piling a second plate full of food and then putting it in front of Ron. "Here. . . You can eat before work."

Harry was lost in thought as he ate. He glanced once or twice at Ron, wondering if it was actually possible that he was the father of Hermione's baby, but Harry just didn't see how. Ron and Hermione hadn't seen each other in years. Like so many friends, the two of them drifted apart after school. If it weren't for Harry, they wouldn't share any connection at all. Occasionally, he'd mention Hermione to Ron, but the flash of pain on his best mate's face was too much to bear, so he usually kept things to himself.

Harry wasn't certain what had happened to cause the rift between them, but it was enough to push them apart. The year after Hogwarts when they still attempted to keep in touch had been dreadful, Harry was almost glad when Hermione moved away. They just weren't the same when they got together, the very air seemed to drip with depression and it was heart breaking.

There was just no way the two of them had got together behind his back after so many years apart. One of them would have said something. Still, there was a lingering doubt there, even knowing it was almost impossible. Ron did love Hermione, Harry was certain of that. Which was the other reason it seemed unfathomable that he was the father. He'd never leave Hermione in the lurch and Ron loved kids. He put his job and his life on the line for every kid in Ginny's care.

There were just some things a bloke knew about his best mate, and Harry knew for certain that Ron would never abandon Hermione knowing she was carrying his child.

"Hey, Harry, look at this," Ron said, thumping the paper he was still reading and pulling Harry from his thoughts. "It says here in Gilda's Gossip, that you were spotted in the Maternity Ward at St. Mungo's. There are of rumours of a torrid love affair and secret baby. . . You dog, you."

"Honestly, what rubbish," Ginny huffed, sitting down next to Ron and looking down at the paper laying out on the table. "They're always reporting bunk like that. . . You'd think they'd get tired of it after all these years."

"Harry has children spread all over England, don't you, mate?" Ron said in amusement. "You know, contraceptive charms are really easy. I could show you one. . . Save you all the bother."

Ron crackled with laughter and took another bite of his eggs, moving on in his reading.

"Do you know a good contraceptive charm?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Ron looked up from the paper, frowning at the question and the tone in Harry's voice. "Yeah, I know several. . . Why?"

"Just curious. . . Is that what you use, charms?"

Ron turned to Ginny, pulling a face of mild confusion before he looked back at Harry. "Yeah, that's what I use."

"You've never bungled one?"

"I haven't bungled anything. . . Why? Have you?" Ron asked in a deadly tone as he looked back at Ginny, paling noticeably. "Bugger all . . You're not. . . Gin, please tell me you're not pregnant."

"What!?" Ginny gasped indignantly. "I most certainly am not."

"I know he comes over here," Ron said, pointing a finger at Harry. "I tried to look the other way. . . I know the war is hard and it's not always easy to find someone, but I thought that at least you two were being careful. . ."

"Ronald Weasley!" Ginny said, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. "I am NOT pregnant."

Ron stopped his ranting to look at her. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not," Ginny said, sitting down in a huff and still glaring at Ron. "Who do you think you're talking to? With all the time I've spent counseling young girls and preaching about birth control. I think I know how to prevent a bloody pregnancy!"

"He's going on about bungled charms. What am I supposed to think?"

"I was just curious," Harry said, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. "I was just making sure you were careful."

"Well, rest assured, I'm very careful," Ron barked in annoyance, obviously still riled up. "Only an idiot would bring a baby into the world with a fucking war going. . . Jesus, Harry, you scared the shit out me."

"Sorry."

"And since when are you so worried if I'm careful or not. . .You sounded like my mum," Ron went on, pulling a face . "You've been acting strange this morning. . . really strange."

"Sorry," Harry said again, feeling relieved despite the trouble he'd caused. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"I guess," Ron said as he turned back to his food. He took a bite, and then looked up at Harry. "Say, you didn't get some other bird pregnant, did you?"

"No!" Harry said, turning to Ginny and shaking his head. "No, I haven't, I swear."

Ron looked like he would have said more, but just then the door to the kitchen was pushed open.

"Uncle Ron!" a small girl screeched, her brown braids flying behind her as she raced towards Ron. "What'd you bring me?"

"Nothing today, Love," Ron said, easily picking up the little girl and setting her on his lap. "I just came to fix Miss Ginny's water heater."

"Are you staying all day?" she asked and wiggled around until she was facing Ron. "You can come to our tea party. . . Uncle Fred and Uncle George gave us a magic tea set that makes the water change color. Sara's tongue was purple with blue polka dots all day yesterday."

"Yes, it was lovely," Ginny said dryly as she stood up. "Remind me to thank them for that."

"Can you stay?" she asked, almost bouncing in excitement. "Can you? Can you?"

"Not today," Ron said, smiling over her head at Harry. "Marley, did you say hi to Harry?"

"Hi, Mr. Harry," she said, turning to him and flashing a toothless grin. "We have a new boy here. . .His name is Harry too, but you're much nicer. He's a big grump. He hardly says anything to anyone, just hides in his room with his sister, Hannah, and she's a grump too."

"Marley, what did I say about name calling?"

"Sorry, Miss Ginny," Marley said, looking chastised for about one second before she turned to Ginny. "But, Darwin said it first."

"I don't care who said it first, I don't want to hear it repeated. . .ever," Ginny said sternly as she put another plate of food on the table. "Now leave Uncle Ron alone and eat your breakfast."

Marley hopped off Ron's lap and sat in the chair next to him, hitching up her flowered nightdress so she could sit on her knees and be eye level with the adults at the table.

"You wanna know what, Mr. Harry?"

"What?" Harry asked, marveling at the level of energy Marley had first thing in the morning.

"Darwin told us that you and Uncle Ron hunt down bad people. . . And he said that sometimes you have to kill them and that one day you're going to kill 'You Know Who.' Is that true?"

"Marley!" Ginny squeaked in horror, turning from the stove to fix a look at the little girl. "Those are terrible things to say."

"Sorry, Miss Ginny," she said again. "Anyway, I told him that wasn't true. Uncle Ron wouldn't kill anyone, would you?"

She turned wide brown eyes on Ron, looking at him expectantly and Ron chose that moment to take a long sip of coffee. Then he cleared his throat and turned to her. "It sounds to me like you need to stop listening to Darwin."

Marley shifted in her seat until her feet dangled back and forth off the edge of the chair. "Boys lie."

"Yes, they do," Ron agreed, taking another sip of coffee. "Best to stay away from boys. . .They're made of nothing but snakes and snails."

Marley giggled. "But you're a boy."

"Then I should know, shouldn't I? And boys have germs. . .Don't ever let one kiss you or your lips might fall off."

"Ew, gross," she said, pulling a face. "One time I saw Mr. Harry and Miss Ginny kissing and her lips didn't fall off.

Ron burst out laughing and Ginny turned from the stove once more, wand in hand. "Marley Chauncey, I swear if you don't stop talking and eat, I'll set a silencing spell on you that will last the rest of the day."

"Sorry, Miss Ginny," Marley said softly and turned back to her breakfast, whispering conspiratorially to Ron. "She's always saying she's gonna do that. . .But, she never does."


	9. Chapter 9

Please Ron," she moaned, running her hand underneath his jumper, feeling his warm bare skin. "I need. . ."

Her hands drifted lower until they were tugging at his trousers, desperate to have them undone. She looked up when she heard him groan, watching as his eyes rolled back until he had no choice to squeeze them shut. Raw misery was ripping through her, tears were wet on her face, but she needed this, needed him. She didn't care if it was wrong, just as long as this horrible pain stopped and she could block out what had happened. . . .Her parents, they were. . .

She let out a sob as more tears poured down her face. Ron brushed them away, his fingers rough on her cheeks. "Shhh, Hermione, please don't. . ." he choked, his voice heavy with emotion. He leaned down, his lips pressing tenderly against her forehead as his fingers tangled in her curls. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes!" she said, her eyes still squeezed shut. "Please, just make it stop, make the hurt stop. . . Please. . ."

She couldn't go on, and suddenly Ron's mouth was on hers, swallowing her sobs as he clumsily kissed her. Subtle warmth spread over her, blocking the pain, making her feel something besides the horror of knowing her parents were dead. His tongue slid into her mouth, brushing against hers, and she arched into him wanting more, hoping it would never stop.

 

"Wake up!"

Hermione jerked awake. Her limbs were still heavy, her mind foggy and she could swear she still felt the weight of misery and despair on top of her, constricting her breathing.

"Wake up, wake up!"

She opened her eyes, groaning as someone pushed at her chest. She squinted against the early morning sun, spying the shock of bright orange hair that bounced in and out of her narrow view.

"Philip, please, ouch," she groaned, wrapping her fingers around his small arms to stop him from jumping on her again. "You're hurting mummy."

"Uncle Harry today," he said brightly, jumping once again despite Hermione's attempts to stop him. "Uncle Harry!"

"No, honey, that's tomorrow."

"Awww," he stopped his jumping and fell limply to the side, crumpling into a heap next to Hermione. "I want him today."

"He can't come today." Hermione said, brushing her tangled hair out of her face, still trying to shake off the dream. "Just one more day. That's not so bad, now is it?"

"Bad," he repeated, and Hermione could hear the tears threatening in that one word.

"Come on, I'll make you breakfast," she said, not knowing if her heart could stand him breaking into tears so early in the morning.

"Not hungry," he mumbled, his face pressing deeper into the comforter. "Bad. . .Uncle Harry."

"I'll make pancakes," she offered, trying to keep her voice bright. "With syrup. . ."

He lifted his head, wide brown eyes filled with tears, looking at her in hope. "Syrup?"

"Lots of syrup."

A smile lit up his face, making him look so much like Ron that Hermione's heart clenched painfully in her chest, especially with the dream of him still so fresh in her memory.

"Kay!"

He crawled out of bed and fell to the ground with a thump that had Hermione peering over the edge in concern, but he bounced up, seemingly cured of his bout with melancholy, and she couldn't help but laugh. The promise of anything doused with sugar was always a sure way to cheer him up, especially since Hermione didn't indulge in his sweet tooth very often. It was usually Harry who snuck him chocolate frogs, and other dreadful treats that were sure to rot his teeth. It was little wonder he was always so excited for a visit.

Philip had already barreled out of her room, and reluctantly Hermione got out of bed, promising herself that she'd stop staying up so late. Four hours of sleep just wasn't enough, especially since Phillip, at two years old, was a huge handful. It was just her luck he inherited Ron's sweet tooth instead of his love for sleeping in.

She padded bare foot out of the room, yawning and tying her dressing gown together. Philip was already sitting at the table, looking at Hermione expectantly.

"Uncle Harry today?"

Hermione groaned. It was going to be such a long day. "No, honey, remember. . . Tomorrow."

"Awwww."

"Mummy's making p-pancakes," she yawned again as she walked into their small kitchen. "With syrup."

"Syrup!"

"Yes, syrup," she said dryly to herself as she pulled out a pan. "To pay for the dentist's holiday."

"Dentist," a voice repeated from the table. "Syrup."

Still half asleep, Hermione made pancakes, deflecting the question of Harry's arrival three more times in the process. It had been stupid of her to even mention that he was coming, but she had been anxious for a visit too, and had let it slip in her excitement. Harry hadn't been by in nearly two months, and she missed him, but she understood how busy he was. She knew from her work at the French Ministry of Magic and her discussions with Harry, that the war in England was only getting worse. It was hard to imagine since they were so sheltered in Paris. With the exception of a few Death Eater sightings, France was surprisingly untouched by Voldemort's terror, where as magical England had been ravaged by war. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't worry for Harry's safety. . . or Ron's.

Hermione sighed to herself. Philip was getting to the age where he was starting to notice his lack of a father. He lived for the times when Harry could visit, and she knew he was starved for male attention. It had been naive of her to keep the secret of her pregnancy from Ron, but what could she do now? It had been so long. She couldn't just owl him and tell him he had a son three years later, and would he mind taking him to a Quidditch match next week. Not to mention how she would hurt Harry, who despite his protests, had kept the knowledge of Philip to himself, knowing Hermione didn't want the Weasley's to know she had had a son out of wedlock. The wizarding world was still shockingly old fashioned, and things like that were almost beyond comprehension. Her co-workers and neighbors had just assumed that Hermione's husband had died in the war and never asked questions.

It had only been recently that Hermione had even allowed herself the thought of telling Ron about Phillip. He had been so against any ties or attachments the last time she had seen him, that there never seemed much of a point before now. She had almost convinced herself that Phillip would be better off with no father than one who didn't want to know him. But, in the past few weeks, she had begun to see some vital progress in her work on an intricate protection spell for Harry. It was very old magic and the work was painstaking and time consuming. Translating the old texts from Ancient Incan to Latin had been extremely difficult and exacting. Any mistake on her part and the spell would be ineffective. But, if she did it right, if it really worked, she would be able to give Harry his Trojan Horse, his ace in the hole against Voldemort.

She barely let herself believe it, but she just might hold the key to helping end the war, to finally destroying Voldemort. Which had led her to Ron, Phillip's father. With Voldemort gone, Ron would be more settled, more likely to warm to the idea of a child. While she knew without question that Ron would never forgive her for her silence, she hoped in a time of peace that Ron might give Phillip a chance. She knew the day she found out she was pregnant and decided not to tell Ron, that he would hate her if he ever found out about her deception. Having Phillip had been worth it. She had been so lonely, so lost, that late at night, when honesty rose to the surface, she knew that Phillip had been her reason to live, to not give in to the despair that had been constricting her, overpowering her and in the end, might have killed her. But, Hermione knew that it came with a heavy price and while she tried to pretend that she was alright with the ramifications of her decision three years ago, her heart broke anew at the thought of the only man she would ever love despising her.

Hermione cut the pancakes into little squares, and then set the plate down, watching as Philip dug into them with vigor. He was such a hardy eater, Hermione was convinced he ate more than she did, but that wasn't saying much. She didn't eat as often as she should.

"Mummy hungry?" he asked, pausing with his fork dangling halfway to his mouth.

Hermione shook her head. "No, mummy's okay, you eat." Philip nodded, and shoved another huge bite into his mouth, making Hermione wince. "Philip, honey, chew with your mouth closed."

It was pointless, so she gave up, suddenly too tired to truly care about her son's lack of table manners. He wasn't three yet. There was still hope. Hermione let her head rest on her arms as her eyes drifted shut. She had such hope for this protection spell, knowing instinctively that it might be the one. She was killing herself trying to work out the details. She almost longed for the days when learning new magic was as easy as repeating spells out of a book instead of designing them herself.

A knock sounded on her door, and Hermione's head jerked up. She'd forgot that she had asked her neighbor, Mrs. Price, to watch Philip today. She was going to tell her last night that she was planning to work from home the rest of the week but she'd got caught up in her research and forgot.

"Uncle Harry!" Philip said excitedly, pancakes forgotten as he looked towards the door.

"No, not Harry, Mrs. Price. Uncle Harry is coming to-mor-row," Hermione repeated slowly, hoping it would sink in this time.

"Awww!"

"Eat your pancakes, I'll be right back."

Hermione got up, hoping that Mrs. Price hadn't woken up early just too get Philip. She was such a sweet old woman, and she helped Hermione so much. She hated the thought of inconveniencing her.

She waved her wand, saying the anti-protection charm that released the wards she set and turned the doorknob. "I'm so sorr--" Hermione's words froze on her tongue as icy cold horror flooded her system.

Three Death Eaters stood at her door. One stepped forward as she stood there, still too stunned to move. The white mask hid his face, but she'd recognize his cold, lazy drawl anywhere. "It's been a long time, Mudblood."

 

~*~

 

"Harry?" Ron said, opening the door in front of him, revealing Harry's messy and very empty office. "Bugger!"

Ron needed to talk to him and he'd hoped Harry would be there. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his brown hair and sighed. It was still early; Harry would probably be in soon. Comfortable in the mess, considering his own office was in equal disarray, Ron walked into the office and sat in Harry's chair to wait for him.

He drank his tea, and flipped through the reports Harry had stacked up on the desk. Ron had been working undercover for two weeks, trying to infiltrate a particularly brutal ring of Death Eaters based out of Knockturn Alley, and he'd lost touch with what was currently going on. With nothing else to do, he took the time to read over the latest intelligence that had been gathered on the Death Eater activity, unfortunately not finding any comfort in it at all. It seemed that no matter how many Death Eaters were captured or killed, more just kept coming out of the woodwork. It was amazing how many witches and wizards could still be lured by Voldemort's empty promises.

He flipped through the parchments rapidly, not seeing anything startling or new, and then his fingers paused on one. An attack had been reported near Ottery St. Catchpole, and he made a mental note to tell his father to be extra careful. They were always cautious, but one could never be too sure. Before Ron had left on his latest mission, he had reinforced the wards around Ginny's home himself, knowing that his brothers were busy and wouldn't have time to check on Ginny as often as he did. They had wives and families to look after, Ron only had Ginny. Well, for all he knew, Percy was alone too, but it wasn't like he'd be stopping by for a visit. Ron would kill him if he came anywhere near Ginny or the kids and Percy knew that. No one had ever accused the traitorous bastard of being stupid, just greedy for money and power. Ron was sure he fit right in as a Death Eater.

He was just wondering if the day would ever come when he'd have to face Percy in this war, when someone knocked on the door. Ron looked up, seeing a blond haired kid who couldn't be more than twenty, standing awkwardly, looking at him hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"You're not Harry Potter."

Ron raised his eyebrows, suddenly wondering just how desperate the Ministry was for employees. "Are you sure?"

"I have a message for Mr. Potter," he said, his eyes narrowing at Ron. "What are you doing in his office?"

"Spying," Ron deadpanned, holding up the reports in his hand. "And then I thought I might toss a few hexes around for good measure."

The kid took another step into office. "You're kidding, right?"

Ron sighed, setting the papers down on Harry's desk in annoyance. "No, I'm really a spy. What're you going to do about it?" He waited, watching the bloke look at him with trepidation, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm kidding. Harry will be in soon. Just leave the message. I'll make sure he gets it."

"They said it was urgent and I should make sure Mr. Potter gets it."

Ron held out his hand, waiting for the kid to hand him the parchment, but he stood rooted in the spot. "Well, if it's so urgent, give it to me."

"I think I should wait for Mr. Potter."

"Bugger me!" Ron cursed, pushing his chair back so he could dig in his pocket for his Auror identification card. He pulled it out and slapped it on the desk. "There, see, Ronald Weasley, top security clearance."

"Ron Weasley?" he said, obviously recognizing his name. He made a point to look at Ron's hair that was currently dark brown rather than it's usual red. "But. . ."

Ron gestured to himself. "Auror," he said slowly, and then pointed to his hair. "Glamour charm." When the kid was still looking at him blankly he shook his head sadly and pointed back to his Auror card, reading out loud. "Re-con-nais-sance."

Finally, he stepped forward and handed Ron the parchment. Ron jerked it out of his hand, barking at him incredulously. "You didn't even look at the card. It could have been my Apparition license for all you knew. Who's training you lot? Gilderoy Lockhart? Merlin, mistakes like that get Aurors killed!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, flushing in embarrassment.

"It doesn't even say reconnaissance on it," Ron said, reading over the report and frowning. It was just a random Death Eater attack on a Ministry employee in Paris. There was no reason to notify Harry about something so mundane. "Who was attacked? There's no name, just an address."

"She had a weird name." He reached into his pocket, bringing out a handful of crumpled parchment. "I wrote it down. . . Gaither, Her-something. . ."

Fear slammed into Ron and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. "Hermione Granger?"

"That's it!"

Ron stood up abruptly, knocking Harry's chair over in the process. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and his body was almost numb with the terror that gripped him. He grabbed a quill and shuffled the parchments on Harry's desk until he finally gave up finding a blank one and simply flipped over one of the reports. He wrote a quick note on the back, his writing barely legible because of the shake in his hand.

"Here," he said, thrusting the parchment at the kid. "Go to the owlery. There's a little owl, he's small, no bigger than your fist. His name is Pig. He'll come if you call him. Tell him to take this letter to Harry. Don't give it to a different owl, only Pig. Can you do that without fucking up?"

Obviously sensing Ron's anxiety, he nodded quickly. "Yes, sir!"

"Only Pig!" Ron said again, brushing past him to walk out the door. "No other owl will be able to find him if he's untraceable."

"Little owl named Pig. . .I got it."

Ron waved him off and ran down the hall, determined to get a Portkey.

 

~*~

 

Ron didn't even have look at the parchment for Hermione's flat number once he arrived at her building, all he had to do was follow the stream of Ministry officials until he reached the open door to number twelve. He peered in, seeing the small flat over run with French Aurors and investigators.

Still anxious, he walked in, but an Auror held out a hand to stop him. "Je dois voir une certaine identification."

Ron stared at him blankly, but then realized he probably wanted to see some identification, especially since he wasn't wearing his Auror robes. He dug into his pocket, and handed him his identification card with his security clearance stated on it.

The French Auror's brow crinkled as he looked at the card, eyeing the picture and then looking back up at Ron suspiciously, his gaze resting on his brown hair. "England?"

"Yes, I work for the British Ministry," Ron said distractedly, using his height as an advantage to peer over the sea of people and look for Hermione.

"You 'ave no jurisdiction 'ere."

"What?" Ron turned back to him, watching the Auror scrape his thumbnail over the picture on his card. Why was he bothering with this anyway? He reached out, yanking the card back, and then easily pushed past him. "Hermione!"

"Stop! You 'ave no right to be 'ere!"

The Auror grabbed the back of his jumper and Ron rounded on him, his eyes glowing in fury. His height and weight were to his advantage and the man cowered under his rage. "Let go of me before I hurt you!"

"You 'ave no. . ."

"Bugger off!" Ron roughly shoved him back, wrenching his jumper free of the man's grasp and pushing deeper into the crowed of people. "Hermione!"

He was just starting to really panic when he spotted a flowing mass of curly brown hair. He'd know Hermione anywhere. She stood in the corner, her back to him as she spoke in rapid French with two other Aurors.

"Hermione!"

Hermione froze and Ron could see her back stiffen, as she turned around wide-eyed, staring at him in shock.

He made a move to walk towards her, when he found the exasperating Auror from the front door had grabbed his jumper again. "Let go of me you annoying little fuc--"

"Ron!" Hermione said, stopping Ron from shaking the man senseless as she pushed her way through the crowd until she stood in front of him. "What--

She was cut off when Ron reached out and pulled her into a fierce hug. He'd been terrified that he was going to come here and find her dead, or injured, or God, any number of things he couldn't bear to think of. Without thought, he leaned down and placed a kiss on top of her curly head, inhaling her scent and squeezing his eyes shut as he willed his heart to stop thumping painfully in his chest.

Hermione gave a pained moan, and immediately Ron let her go. "Are you okay?" He studied her face, taking in her beautiful, but very tired features. His eyes narrowed when he spotted a darkening bruise across her cheekbone. "You're hurt."

"No," she said, shaking off her shock and cupping her cheek when he continued to stare at the mark. "I'm fine. Malfoy, he. . ."

"Malfoy!" Ron barked, his hands balling into fists at his side. "He did this? He's dead. . . Did they catch him?"

"No, he. . . got away," she said, her voice trailing off as she looked up at him. "Ron, what are you doing here?"

"I was in Harry's office when the report came in." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly, suddenly realizing that he was seeing Hermione for the first time in over three years. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Hermione bit at her lip, and reached up to brush the fringe off his forehead. "Your hair."

"It's just a glamour. It'll wear off in a day so," he said, finding himself starved for the sight of her after so long. "I. . ."

Ron stopped when something barreled into him, nearly knocking him off his feet and he looked down, seeing a small redheaded boy not more than three, sitting on the ground shaking off his fall. "You okay there, Mate?"

The boy smiled broadly at him, and Ron reached down and picked him up just as a harassed looking older woman came running up. "I'm so sorry. He just slipped right past me," she said, looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione apologetically. "I'll just take him back to my flat and try to keep him busy."

"Don't worry about it," he said, comfortably shifting the boy's weight to his other arm and dusting at his trousers. "You wouldn't believe the lot of nieces and nephews I have at home. I'm always getting beat up by one of them."

Ron smiled at the older woman, assuming she was the boy's Grandmother and she paled, gripping her chest as she looked at him. "Oh my!"

"Play!" the boy chimed, still smiling at Ron and now patting his shoulder enthusiastically. "Play horsey, Harry!"

"Oh, he speaks English," Ron said, impressed, but it made sense because his Grandmother was obviously British. "His name is Harry?"

"No, his name is Philip. . . He doesn't know many people who speak English. He probably thinks. . ." the woman's voice trailed off as she continued to stare at Ron and then looked back to Hermione for some sort of confirmation. "Well, his Uncle. . ." she sighed, shaking her head. "He calls most men Harry."

"Uncle Harry!" he said brightly. "To-mor-row."

Ron laughed, turning back to Hermione as he fingered a lock of the boy's vibrant red hair. "He'd fit right in at the Burrow, wouldn't he?" he said, but his smile faded when he saw the look of muted horror on Hermione's face as she stood there, completely motionless, staring at him. "Are you okay?"

Ron stepped closer; worried she might be injured from the attack earlier, when Philip suddenly lurched forward, his arms stretched towards Hermione. "Mummy."

"Mummy?" Ron repeated, as he looked at Hermione in confusion.

Shock slammed into Ron as he watched Hermione pale under his scrutiny, and his head whipped around to study the child in his arms more closely. He couldn't breathe; all the air whooshed out of him as he touched the boy's hair, silky orange strands sliding easily through his fingers. Once again, the boy smiled brightly, his brown eyes lighting up in a way that was so painfully familiar. Ron used to live for the moments when Hermione's eyes would glow like that.

"Oh, my God."

Hermione stepped forward, her voice choked with emotion. "Ron, I. . ."

Ron stopped her words, handing Philip back to her abruptly. "I've got to go."

"Please, don't, Ron," she said, holding Philip tightly to her chest and moving to follow after him. "Don't leave like this."

"Hermione, just. . . leave me alone," Ron rasped, his jaw locking as anger swiftly made it's way up through the cloud of shock surrounding him. "Please don't make me lose my temper in front of him."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Ron looked once more at Hermione's son clenched tightly in her arms. . .His son.

He had to fight back tears and it almost took more strength than he had to finally speak. "I'm going outside. . . Don't!" he growled, his voice razor sharp and icy. ". . .come looking for me until I've cooled off."

He turned around and stormed out of Hermione's flat, shoving past the French Aurors and Officials. He ran out of the building, ignoring people's odd stares, desperate for fresh air. He finally found a private spot and slumped against the wall in the alley behind her building as a pained cry slipped past his throat.


	10. Chapter 10

With Ron's note clenched tightly in his fist, Harry shoved the Portkey into his pocket, and stormed into Hermione's building, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He made it to the flat almost blindly, walking past the Auror guarding her door without thought. The man grabbed his jacket, and Harry turned to him, his green eyes narrowed, daring him to say something.

The Auror's eyes flicked to the scar on Harry's forehead and he let go, speechlessly reaching out to brush at the side of Harry's jacket as he looked at him apologetically. Harry shoved him aside as his sharp Seeker eyes scanned the room, and he spotted Hermione almost instantly, sitting on the couch, Philip clutched tightly to her chest. A sigh of relief escaped him as he made his way through the crowd, ignoring the stares and gasps until he was standing right in front of her. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, Harry," she said, a sob escaping her lips.

"Uncle Harry!" Philip wiggled out of Hermione's arms, and he launched himself at Harry. "Uncle Harry! Today!"

"Hey mate," Harry said, sweeping Philip into his arms, and squeezing him tight. He sat down on the couch next to Hermione and held Philip out for inspection, desperately needing to see for himself that he was unharmed. Philip smiled broadly at him, and then reached forward to wind his small arms tightly around Harry's neck. Harry turned to Hermione, seeing that she'd buried her face in her hands. "Come here." He pulled Hermione into a half hug, made all that much harder because of Philip who was trapped in the middle. "Please tell me you're okay, that they didn't hurt you. . . Do anything. . ."

"I'm fine," she mumbled between her fingers, her voice choked with some unnamed emotion. "You know I can take care of myself."

"Then what?" Harry asked, trying to calm Philip who was beyond excited, his small body wiggling to break up the hug between Harry and Hermione. Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out a chocolate frog and handed it to Philip. "Here, I brought something for you."

"Candy!" Philip said, snatching the chocolate frog and flipping it over to tear at the wrapper.

"Sit right here." Harry lifted him and set him on the other side of the couch. "Let me talk to your mum for a second, okay?"

"Kay!" he said, as he leaned over to catch the frog that was struggling to get away. "Got it!"

"We'll make a Seeker out of you yet," Harry said, ruffling his hair affectionately before he turned back to Hermione. "Okay, tell me everything. Did they catch who did it? Do you know who it was. . . Christ," Harry gasped, placing a hand on his chest and forcing himself to breathe as he looked around at the flood of people in Hermione's small flat. "I nearly had a heart attack when I got Ron's note!"

Hermione let out another choked sob as she let her head fall sideways and rest on Harry's shoulder. Harry could feel her body shaking. The relief he felt at finding the two of them alive started to fade as he turned to really look at her, threading his hands into her hair. and forcing her to look at him. He studied her face, seeing a light purple bruise on her cheek and feared the worse. "Oh, God, Hermione, what did they do to you?"

"No, it's not that," she said, brushing at the tears on her cheeks. "Ron saw Philip."

"Oh," Harry said, releasing Hermione and letting his arms fall limply at his side. "Well, Hermione, you knew this would eventually happen. Maybe it's better this way. He had to find out sometime."

"You don't understand," she said, shaking her head before she buried her face in her hands once more, mumbling through her fingers. "Oh God, I've made such a mess. . . of everything. . . He didn't even want to hold Philip. He just handed him right back to me when he realized Philip was his son."

"Ron's always had an odd jealous strike when it. . . Wait, what?" Harry said, his head snapping back to stare at Hermione in disbelief.

"I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

"Did you just say that Ron is Philip's father?" Harry said slowly, staring at Hermione as her shoulders shook with the force of her crying.

She lifted her head, looking at him with watery eyes. "I couldn't tell you, I'm so sorry. I knew you'd tell him, and he was so determined that he couldn't have any emotional attachments. . . A child was the last thing he would have wanted and I knew that. I thought it was better for everyone. I was going to wait until the war was over to tell both of you, when things settled. . . But, the war just won't end!"

"Oh, he's dead!" Harry said, fury rising up inside of him. "You're damn right I would have told him right after I beat the shi--"

"Philip," Hermione said cautiously, warning Harry not to swear as she peered over his shoulder to check on him. "Please don't be mad at him, Harry. It's not his fault. I wanted a baby, and I knew he didn't, so I never told him I was pregnant."

"So what!" Harry said, trying very hard to keep his tone calm when Philip paused between bites of his chocolate to peer at Harry curiously. "He sleeps with you and doesn't write you for three years. Doesn't stop by and say hello! When did this go on?"

"It was just the one time. He showed up at your cabin. . . and it just happened. . . He told me he couldn't be involved with me. . . with anyone. He was very honest."

"Neither of you ever said anything! I mean, I considered Ron in the beginning because of Philip's coloring, but for all I knew you two hadn't seen each other in years. I even hinted and the way he made it sound, he acted like he was the most careful bloke around! That prat!"

"Prat!" Philip repeated, his mouth full of chocolate and Harry groaned.

"Please go talk to him, Harry. He said he was going outside and he doesn't want to see me. You have to go," Hermione said pleadingly, grabbing Harry's arm in desperation.

"Oh, no, I'm not talking to him," Harry said, shaking his head. "Let him stew out there! He nearly killed you! You almost died having Phillip."

"Shhh, Harry, I don't want Philip to know that," Hermione whispered, looking over his shoulder at Philip once more and then turning back to Harry. "You're not thinking clearly. You've only seen my side of things, but what about Ron? He's out there thinking we both betrayed him. Philip called him Harry. I know that's hurting him."

"He used you!" Harry hissed in fury, his jaw clenching. "You were supposed to be his best friend and then he just up and sleeps with you and doesn't once look back. I don't feel sorry for him at all!"

"He didn't want to leave, I know he didn't. His life is complicated. I understand that."

"But. . ." Harry's argument died on his lips and he sighed again. Ron's life was complicated. Harry hated that he involved Ginny in the things he did, but he also knew that Ginny was the driving force behind Ron's efforts most of the time. The woman was too manipulative for her own good. It made sense that he wouldn't want to be involved with Hermione when he was walking around one step away from Azkaban. "He shouldn't have done anything if he knew he couldn't be involved and he certainly should have been careful!" Hermione winced, pulling a face, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

"Well, he thought he was being careful."

"How could he possibly have thought that? He's not daft!"

"I told him I had it taken care of," Hermione said, wincing again as she looked up at Harry in embarrassment.

"Oh, Hermione," Harry said, running his hands through his hair and looking at her incredulously "You tricked him?"

"Not exactly, I mean, I did have it taken care of, didn't I?" Hermione said, her tone logical though he could hear the guilt in her voice. "I've handled Philip on my own. We haven't bothered him."

"How could you?"

"I was so lonely, Harry. I had no one. My parents were gone. Ron was all but dead to me and you, you were like a ghost at times, only available when it suited you. I needed Philip. I don't know how I would have it made it through these last years without him. Ron's the only man I'd ever slept with, and I knew him and . . . and he was there. . . and. . ." She buried her face in her hands once more as another sob escaped her. "I probably didn't think it through like I should have, but I was depressed, I wasn't thinking clearly back then. . . And then I was just so sick during the pregnancy, and all that time it took me to recover from actually having Philip, and then we moved to France. I just never told him, and you were so angry, so very angry at the father. I didn't want to cause a rift between you two. You two need each other to survive. You always have!"

"God, I'm so stupid," Harry said, the shock still evident in his voice as he looked at Philip, who was happily licking his fingers, seeing Ron so clearly now, before he'd only seen Philip as himself, and flickers of Hermione. "You told me you liked red headed blokes."

Hermione lifted her head, tears rolling down her face as a weak smile played on her lips. "Well, that was true."

Harry groaned, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "Okay, I'll go talk to him."

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione said, leaning forward to hug him. "Please tell him I'm sorry. Tell him how wonderful Philip is. I don't care if Ron hates me, but I don't want Philip to suffer. I had hoped to explain things properly . . . logically, instead of having him just find out like this."

"He won't make Philip suffer, Hermione," Harry said, certain of that one fact if nothing else. "He risks everything for children that aren't even his. He'd never deny his own son."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, wiping at the last of her tears and staring at him in concern. "What kids? What's he risking?"

Harry shook his head as he stood. "Don't worry about it. I'll try to smooth things out, but I can't promise anything. This is an utter and complete mess."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Harry said, and then picked up Philip who had jumped off the couch. "Stay with your mum for me."

"No, don't go!" Philip said, clinging to him and making Harry feel terrible. It had been too long since he'd last seen him. "Stay!"

"I'll be right back," Harry said, trying and failing to pull Philip off him. "I've got to go outside for a second and then when I get back we can go flying. How does that sound?"

"Flying?" Philip asked, pulling back to look at Harry, his mouth smeared with chocolate.

"Yeah, flying. Do you still have that broomstick I gave you?"

Hermione moaned in complaint. "Harry, I hate it when you take him up on that thing. He's too little. I don't know why you gave it to him, in the first place."

"He's watching it for me, aren't you?" He winked at Philip, ignoring Hermione's sputter. "He wants to be a Seeker when he grows up."

"Seeker!" Philip said, smiling at his mother almost gloatingly. "Snitch!"

"That's the one." Harry handed Philip back to Hermione, ruffling his hair. "Take care of your mum, she's sad."

"Bad, bad monsters," Philip said, patting Hermione's face lovingly, leaving a chocolate smear on her cheek.

"Yeah, and we'll talk about that when I get back," Harry said to Hermione, peering around at the Aurors who were slowly dwindling away, leaving only a few left writing reports and gathering evidence. "I want to know everything that happened."

 

~*~

 

Harry found Ron in a quiet alleyway behind Hermione's building. He was leaning against the wall, trying to roll a cigarette, but even from a distance, Harry could see that the shake in Ron's hands was making it almost impossible. More tobacco was ending up on the pavement than in the wrapping paper.

"Fuck it!"

Ron threw the tobacco tin violently. It slammed against the wall in front of him and then clattered to the pavement as Ron sunk down until he was sitting on the ground. He buried his face in his hands, looking completely broken.

The image shook Harry. Ron was a brilliant Auror, a man with strong principles who had shown Harry unbending loyalty since they had been children. As much as he hated Hermione's tears, this display was far more unsettling.

Harry took a cautious step forward as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Muggle cigarettes. He knew Ron heard him, but he didn't look up as his back stiffened.

"Stay away from me, Harry."

Harry ignored him, tapping the pack with practiced ease until one cigarette slid out and then stopped in front of Ron, silently offering it to him. Ron looked up, his icy eyes full of anger and betrayal, but he took the cigarette anyway, lighting it with his wand and looking ahead at the wall in front of him as he inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply into his lungs and shakily blew it out.

Harry lit his own cigarette and leaned tiredly back against the wall. "I didn't know he was yours, Ron."

Ron snorted in disbelief. "Even you aren't that daft. He looks just like me."

"There are other redheads in the world besides Weasley's. How could I have known you'd slept with Hermione? Neither of you ever said anything. I thought you two had drifted apart years ago, and that'd been it. You don't even talk about her anymore."

Ron was silently smoking his cigarette, breathing heavily, and Harry knew he was trying to control his temper. He didn't know what he could do or say to make the situation better, so he waited until Ron had worked up the ability to speak again.

"I'm never forgiving her for this," Ron finally said, his voice harsh with controlled anger. "All this time. . .And she never said anything, never owled me!"

"You could have owled her, Ron," Harry pointed out, trying to choke down his own rush of anger at what Hermione had suffered through alone. "Hermione used to be your friend. She should have been more than a one night stand to you."

"She tricked me!" Ron yelled, dropping his cigarette and jumping up suddenly as he rounded on Harry. "She lied to you, you daft idiot! And you're making excuses for her!"

"I know you're angry, but you don't know what's she's gone through."

"If she's had a hard time, it's her own fault! She should have told me I have a son! That bitch!"

Harry finally lost his temper. He threw his cigarette down, and reached for Ron, grabbing a fistful of Ron's jumper and jerking him forward despite the fact that Ron weighed over three stones more than him. "She nearly died having Philip! It took her months to recover! Months! And guess who was the one changing Philip's shitty nappies while she was too weak to get out of the damned bed. Me!"

Ron paled, but his eyes still glowed in anger, blue flames leaping up in their depths. "If she was so sick, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't think it was my place. She asked me to keep quiet and I did. I didn't tell her when you spent two months in St. Mungo's recovering from prison camp. I was simply extending her the same courtesy. I never pretended to understand why you two drifted apart, but if you had things you wanted kept private, I kept them private, and trust me, it wasn't easy!"

Ron wilted under Harry's fury, his shoulders slumping as his arms fell limply to his sides. If Harry didn't know Ron better, he would have sworn he saw tears glisten in his eyes as he shook his head dejectedly.

"I have a kid I didn't even know existed," Ron sighed, running a hand though is brown hair as Harry let go of his jumper. "What am I going to tell my family. . . My mum, she's going to kill me. I know she'll want me to marry Hermione, and you know I can't do that."

"You must care for her if you. . ." Harry stopped, uncomfortable with the idea of Ron and Hermione together romantically. "If you were with her; it had to have meant something."

"I thought it did," Ron said, his voice laced with hurt and lingering anger. "Now, I just. . . I don't know. It's obvious she used me to get Philip. Everyone knows Weasley's are only good for making babies. She probably couldn't believe her luck when I showed up that night. God, I'm so stupid! All this time I've spent pining for her. . .And she turns out to be nothing but a lying, conniving little. . ."

"Hey!" Harry said threateningly. "Don't say anything you'll regret."

"Hello! Look at what she's done!" Ron said, as he turned to Harry, his face flushed red. "The last thing I needed was a kid. How can I go on like I have been, knowing I've got someone out there who is depending on me! I know Hermione thinks he doesn't need a father, but that's not true!"

"Well, maybe this is a good reason for you to stop what you're doing," Harry said, wondering if this was the silver lining in everything. "You're in too deep as it is. I can only cover your tracks for so long. One of these days you're going to mess with the wrong person and end up in Azkaban. . . And despite what you think, lots of people depend on you. I depend you, Ginny depends on you, the kids. . ."

Ron looked over his shoulder to check if anyone one was listening, and then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "The Ministry is corrupt Harry, you know that. It's run by Purebloods, half of them are Death Eaters. No one gives a shit about slave traders, and arseholes benefiting off this war as long as they are lining their pockets with galleons. Who else is going to do anything?"

"It's not your job to save everyone, Ron," Harry said softly, as he pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered Ron another one, before he lit one himself. "I admire the hell out of you for what you're doing. But, I don't want to see you go to Azkaban and if you're not careful, you'll drag Ginny there with you."

Ron shook his head. "She won't go to prison. She'd talk her way out, and besides, what idiot would put a Pureblood witch who takes care of orphaned kids in Azkaban? Talk about bad publicity."

Harry paled, understanding Ron's reasoning. "But Hermione. . ."  
"The Ministry doesn't care about Muggleborns," Ron agreed, as he took a long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. "Especially one who's been in France for most of the war. She's practically a traitor in their eyes."

"She works for them, her research. . ."

"Doesn't matter," Ron broke in abruptly. "People don't give a fuck about research when they're starving, and terrified to leave their homes. I don't know what I'm going to do. . . Any mistake now, and they can link Hermione to me, and Philip will suffer. . . Fuck, and Malfoy probably knows he's mine. Even if you didn't notice, he probably did. . ."

Harry gasped, turning to Ron in surprise. "Malfoy?"

"He's the one who attacked Hermione. It's no wonder she got away so easily, he's always been worthless," Ron mumbled almost to himself as he stared off in the distance. "I've got to go figure out some things. I need more time to cool off and get my mind straight. This changes everything."

Harry nodded, looking at Ron in concern. "Are you coming back?"

"Of course I'm coming back," Ron snapped, flicking his cigarette down the alley. "They're obviously after Hermione for something. You know they'd use Philip against her if they can."

"I'll stay with them," Harry offered, knowing that Ron and Hermione's relationship was more than a little strained at the moment.

Ron shook his head in denial, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You're more important than I am. I can afford to miss work, you can't. You're the only hope people have left. Knowing you're there and fighting is what keeps everyone going. Besides, he's my son, Harry. My responsibility, not yours."

"I don't think Hermione will let you stay. . . Not with things like they are."

Ron's eyes narrowed once more as his nostrils flared in anger. "Hermione will have to deal with it. She should have thought about that before she was tricking me into making a baby."

"Philip really is a good kid, Ron," Harry said hesitantly, almost taking offense that Ron resented his existence so much.

"Well, I wouldn't know that now, would I?" Ron said vindictively before his features softened and he rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. "I'm not mad at him. I'm hacked off at Hermione. I have to get used to the idea of having a child I didn't know about, but you know I'd never do anything to hurt my own son, Harry."

Harry sighed, wishing there was an easy solution. "I know."

"I'm going. Stay with Hermione until I get back. Find out what happened," Ron said, as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a Portkey. "She may be a liar, but you have to give Hermione credit for escaping a Death Eater attack. I'd like to know how she'd managed it."

"She knows more about defense against the dark arts than you and I could learn in a lifetime," Harry said, smiling slightly. "What do you think she spends all her time researching?"

"I'm not feeling too charitable towards her, but I do hope she taught Malfoy a lesson before he escaped. I'd love to get my hands on that little ferret."

"I'm sorry I never told you about Philip, Ron," Harry said honestly, knowing that Ron still felt betrayed by him as well as Hermione. "I just never thought that you'd. . . sleep with Hermione and not write her. I never considered it. I guess our friendship made me sort of blind, it's the only excuse I have."

"Yeah, well, there's nothing we can do about it now but deal with it." Ron shrugged, pulling out his wand to activate the Portkey. "Give me time. We can talk later about it."

Ron disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the alleyway, smoking his cigarette and thinking about how quickly their lives had changed.

 

~*~

 

It was night by the time Ron made it back to Hermione's flat, a well-used travel bag slung over his shoulder. He'd spent most his life going on missions. He knew how to pack light, and how to survive for weeks off the supplies in one small bag.

He had owled Ginny before he left, telling her that he'd be gone for at least another couple of weeks, knowing she'd pass the word along to the rest of the family. He would have liked to have gone and told her in person, but he wasn't emotionally ready for that. Ginny knew sides of him most people didn't, and he'd have probably come unglued if he had to tell Ginny about Philip right now. It was better she thought he was out on a mission, and really, it was the truth. He was on a mission. He was there to protect Philip, nothing more.

Ron knocked, hating that he felt like a nervous teenager, his stomach rolling threateningly as he stared at the wooden door to Hermione's flat.

"Who is it?" Harry called, his voice harsh and paranoid, making Ron almost want to smile.

"Knightly," he called, knowing if he'd have used his real name, Harry might think it was some sort of trick, or a random Death Eater using Polyjuice potion.

It took a few seconds, but the door opened and Harry arched an eyebrow at him. "You're still using that name?"

Ron shrugged. "I use King or Kingsley too. . . Depends on what mood I'm in."

"Amazing how a few years of glory in school can stick with you forever," Harry said, smiling slightly.

"Allow me my vanities. I'm not a hero like you. Quidditch and massive chess boards are all I have left to cling to," Ron sighed, peering into the flat and seeing that it was empty. "Where's Hermione?"

"She's reading Philip a story," Harry said, opening the door wider as Ron walked in. "He's had a long day. . . I think the Death Eater attack is bothering him more than he let on. He needs sleep."

Ron nodded, tossing his bag down near the coach as he peered around the flat in curiosity now that it was empty. "So, did you find out what happened?"

"Yeah, it was Malfoy like you said. He and two of his cronies showed up here. They probably thought Hermione would go down without a fight. They underestimated her," Harry said, as he sunk down onto the couch looking tired. "The idiot should have stunned her as soon as she opened the door, but he felt like gloating instead. He did attack her, but Hermione had her wand out before he could get more than one good hit in."

"The bruise on her cheek," Ron growled, remembering the mark. Even in his fury at Hermione, he was disgusted that Malfoy had dared lay a hand on her. "What'd she use to get away?"

"I don't know, some hex I've never heard of. It knocked two of the Death Eater's out cold, but Malfoy Disapparated when he realized he was fighting her alone. Hermione was kind of confused about the details. You know how things get when you're in a situation like that. I think Malfoy went for Philip when he saw him, thinking that he'd use him to get Hermione to go quietly, but Philip's slippery." Harry gave a small laugh, shaking his head. "I can barely catch him when he takes off, and I'm a hell of a lot faster than Malfoy. Too bad she didn't get a chance to hex Malfoy, but at least we've got two of the bastards in custody. I don't recognize their names, but they could have given false information to the Aurors."

"Probably," Ron said, picking up a picture on the mantle and looking at it, watching Hermione and Philip smile and wave at him. "Do you think the French Ministry will let us question them? I know it's not our jurisdiction."

"I was going to go over there tomorrow and see what I can get out of them. I shouldn't have a problem getting in to interrogate them, I do have some international pull."

Ron chuckled, placing the picture back. "International pull? Is that what you call everyone falling all over themselves to do whatever the Mighty Harry Potter tells them to do?"

Harry shrugged, having long since grown out of being embarrassed by his fame. "If it gets the job done."

"I wonder why they're after Hermione?" Ron mumbled to himself, as he leaned in to look at another picture of Harry holding Philip when he was just a baby. He ignored the pain in his chest, trying not to think about how much he'd missed as he turned back to Harry. "Does she have any ideas? Seems a bit odd that Malfoy should show up in Paris just to attack an old school enemy after all these years. There has to be another reason."

"Well, Hermione is working on some very complicated stuff. . . A protection spell that is extremely advanced magic. If there was a leak in the French Ministry, which is likely, they might see it as a threat to Voldemort. Or, they could've just been planning to get at me by capturing her. Our friendship isn't exactly a secret," Harry said, his voice strained with guilt and anger. "It's pretty obvious they weren't out to actually kill her, or she'd be dead. They wanted her alive for something."

Ron nodded in agreement, and looked down the hallway when he heard a door open. His whole body tensed when he saw Hermione. She met his eyes quickly, and then turned away, closing the door to Philip's room quietly before she came into the living room to join the conversation.

Ron couldn't help but study her for a second, taking in her blue dressing gown that was tied securely at her waist. Her hair was shorter, her breasts fuller, her figure slightly more curvy then the last time he'd seen her, but she was still thin enough that his mum would be forcing food down her throat if she were to show up at the Burrow. Despite it all; the heartbreak, the betrayal, he couldn't deny that she was stunningly attractive, even with dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. His fingers itched to touch her, and that only made him more furious. He resented the hell out of her for being so alluring when all he wanted to feel towards her was bitterness.

He turned away when she gazed up at him hopefully, not wanting to see the sadness and guilt in her eyes. That look affected him more than he wanted to admit.

"I'm glad you're going to be visiting, Ron," Hermione started hesitantly, taking a step forward but stopping when Ron tensed visibly. "Philip will be very excited. I'm surprised you found a room on such short notice."

Ron turned around then, arching an eyebrow at Harry, who coughed, clearing his throat. "Well, I'll. . . uh, just be going so you two can talk. We can go over more about Malfoy later," he said to Ron and then turned to Hermione, giving her a brief hug. "Don't stay up too late. You look beat."

"You're leaving?" Hermione said to Harry, casting a nervous glance at Ron. "But, I thought. . ."

"Ron's going to hang around for a couple of days, just in case Malfoy shows up. You'll be fine. I'll catch an early Portkey back here tomorrow," Harry said quickly, practically tripping over his feet as he walked towards the door.

Hermione followed after him, her eyes wide, looking like she was trying to silently convey to Harry that she didn't want to be left alone with Ron. Harry ignored her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before he slipped out of her flat, leaving Hermione standing there stiffly and staring at the door when it closed in her face.

Ron watched her take a few calming breaths and then she turned to him, smiling nervously. "Well, I guess you'll want to talk about. . . everything."

"Not really," Ron said, making Hermione wince from the coldness in his voice. "I'm pretty tired. Finding out I had a son no one bothered to tell me about can take it out of a bloke."

"Oh," she mumbled, biting at her lip for a second. "I really am sorry, Ron."

"Just not sorry enough to tell me."

"I never meant to hurt you," she said softly taking a step towards him and reaching out to touch his arm. "I still care for you."

Ron brushed off her roughly, and turned back towards the couch as he reached behind his neck and pulled his jumper off in one fluid motion, leaving on his white cotton t-shirt. He tossed his jumper on top of his pack that was still laying on the floor and then turned back to Hermione, seeing that her eyes had widened, and she was staring at his chest. Ron cleared his throat, and she met his eyes. More than just anguish, he saw lust swirling in those her brown orbs, but it disappeared quickly. She frowned and glanced down at his pack next to the couch and then looked up at him again.

"You aren't thinking of staying here?"

"I am," he nodded, ignoring her look of shock as he dropped down on the couch and leaned down to unlace his shoes. "I'll kip on the couch."

"Ron, I don't think that's such a good idea," she hedged. "It's obvious you're still upset with me."

"Still brilliant as always," he said dryly, as he tossed one shoe on top of his things and started to work on the other. "And here I thought you'd lost all your good sense."

"You can't stay here, Ron," she said firmly, reaching down and stopping his work on his other shoe. "I'm not comfortable with this at all."

Ron glared up at her, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You'll get over it," he said icily, jerking his hand free of hers and going to work on his laces once more. "Don't worry, Hermione. I have NO plans of ever touching you. Like it or not, Philip is my son, and I am his father. That means it's my job to keep him from getting hurt and I intend to do that, nothing more."

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her curly hair as she looked at him in hurt. "It's not healthy for Philip to be around all this tension. You can't stay here."

"Fine!" Ron dropped his other boot and stood up, looking down at Hermione in fury. "Then get Philip's things ready. I'll take him with me."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "W-what?"

"You heard me. If you're not comfortable around me, that's fine. I'll take him back to England and protect him there. Works out better for me, since I really don't want to be around you either."

"You can't take my son, Ron," Hermione whispered in horror. "You know you can't. You have no right."

"I have every right," Ron growled, resisting the urge to shake her as anger slammed into him again. "He's my son too. You lied to me. You've been living in France while I've been fighting this war for ten years of my life. I'm a decorated Auror from a pure blood family. Who do you think the Ministry would give custody to?"

Hermione paled, and she took a step back from him, looking at him like she'd never seen him before. "You wouldn't do that to me. . .to Philip. I know you wouldn't."

Ron arched an eyebrow at her. "You don't know anything about me or what I'm capable of. It's been a long bloody war Hermione. I'm not some sniveling lad anymore. I've done things you can't even imagine. You have no idea what sort of man you chose to father your child, and now you're paying for it. So unless you want to play dirty, I suggest you start being a lot more agreeable."

"You're blackmailing me!" Hermione cried, her face flushing in anger. "It won't work. I'm not scared of you."

Ron leaned down so he was eye level with her and stared at her coldly. "You should be. You don't know what lengths I'll go to protect my family and Philip is my family. Malfoy will not get him just because you're uncomfortable around me. I'd die for him. Compared to that, going to the Ministry is nothing."

"You don't even know him, Ron." Hermione whispered desperately.

"And whose fault is that?" Ron shot back. "Get him ready. I'll wait."

"You can't care for him. He's practically a baby. You don't know anything about children."

"Who says I don't?" Ron said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have loads of nieces and nephews and I practically live at Ginny's. I know more about kids than you think."

"Does. . . Ginny have children? I didn't know she was married?" Hermione asked, sounding surprised.

Ron looked at her, feeling his own fair share of shock. "No, she runs an orphanage. Didn't Harry tell you? He's been shagging her for years, I figured he talked about her."

Hermione shook her head, biting at her lip as she processed the information. Finally, she sighed, looking tired. "Fine, Ron, stay here. I just can't fight with you right now. You win."

For some reason, the victory wasn't all that satisfying to Ron. Guilt welled up in him as he stared down at Hermione, seeing that her shoulders had sagged in defeat and oddly, he found that he preferred her spitting mad at him, fighting, rather than looking so beaten.

"I wouldn't let Philip see any of the tension, Hermione. I'm more mature than that. The last thing I want is for him to be scared of me."

Hermione nodded, looking up at him, her eyes shining in unshed tears. "Thank you," she said, walking past him towards the hallway. "Just. . . make yourself at home. I'm going to bed. It's been a long day."

Ron silently watched her go, staring at her until she disappeared behind a door at the end of the hallway. He fell onto the couch, his shoulders sagging heavily in weariness. He flopped onto his back, wishing he had a pillow, but he was too tired to bother looking for one. So, he stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to claim him, but he had too much to think about and it was a long time before his eyes finally drifted shut.


	11. Chapter 11

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ron rasped. He was so breathless he was finding it hard to form words coherently. “We can. . . stop,” he choked on the word, hating that his needs were affecting his good judgment. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Hermione shook her head. “No, don’t,” she breathed as she draped one bare leg over his hip.  
  
Ron stared down at her, unable to believe that he was lying there naked with Hermione. Her bare breasts were pressed against his chest, and her hips kept moving against his impatiently, making it hard to think past anything but the fact that there was nothing left between them to stop him from taking her.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that there had to be a very good reason why this was a bad idea, but that reason fled him when he felt her, hot and moist, brush against his erection. “Shit, Hermione, don’t. . . I can’t think. . .”  
  
Her fingers tangled into his hair and she didn’t have to tug hard to bring his lips to hers. She moaned and his tongue thrust past her parted lips as they kissed eagerly. His cock twitched in jealousy, and his brain seemed to completely shut down, leaving only the throbbing desire to push inside her and drown in her warmth.  
  
“Please, Ron, please.”  
  
Her voice was like a command and Ron found himself moving against her with intent. He had to bite his lip painfully when he felt just how hot and wet she really was. His hips thrust forward on their own accord and he rested his forehead against Hermione’s shoulder as a wave of pleasure swept over him.  
  
She pitched beneath him, her back arching, her silky thighs rubbing against his sensitive skin. “Oh God, Hermione” he moaned her name like a prayer, his voice low when he found himself fully sheathed inside of her.  
  
“Red!”  
  
Ron jerked, stopping just short of lashing out and punching blindly at whoever had forced him so abruptly out of his dream. His limbs were heavy, his mind foggy with sleep, but reality descended on him rapidly and he was instantly resentful that Hermione could still find her way into his dreams.  
  
“Red. . . Same red!”  
  
Ron grunted, opening one eye when he felt his hair being tugged on. He jerked again when he saw Philip’s face an inch away from his, smiling broadly.  
  
“What’s up?” Ron mumbled, recovering quickly from his shock and trying not to wince when his hair got tugged again.  
  
“Red,” Philip said enthusiastically, and then pointed to his own hair. “See. . .Two red!” he pointed back to Ron and then at himself. “One, two. . .Two red!”  
  
Ron ran a hand through his hair, finally figuring out that the glamour charm on his hair must have worn off as he slept. “Yeah, red. . .” he smiled, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching Philip’s hair that was even brighter than his. “Really red. . . Sorry about that, Mate.”  
  
Ron grunted when Philip jumped on top of him, pressing his face close to Ron’s again as he peered at him eagerly. “Play, Harry. . . Fly? Snitch!”  
  
Ron’s heart clenched, and he shook his head, but stopped short of saying anything. What should Philip call him? Ron didn’t seem right, but. . .  
  
“Daddy. . .Not Harry.”  
  
Ron tensed when he heard Hermione’s voice correct Philip. Though it only took a second for her words to register and he was surprised at just how relived he was to hear her say that.  
  
“Same!” Philip leaned eagerly over the couch to smile at Hermione as she walked into the room. “Two red! One, two red. . .”  
  
“I see,” Hermione said, smiling at Philip for a second before her eyes met Ron’s. “The glamour wore off.”  
  
“Yeah, I reckoned,” Ron said, running a hand through his hair self-consciously. “And I thought I was going to be able to enjoy the brown for one more day.”  
  
“Don’t say that. I love red hair.”  
  
Ron arched an eyebrow at her, and Hermione’s cheeks flushed almost instantly. She looked more endearing than Ron cared to admit, blushing and fresh faced with her hair still wild from sleeping.  
  
“I think you may be a bit biased,” Ron said, wanting to make that endearing glow to her cheeks fade, but only succeeding in making her blush more when his meaning was misinterpreted. He reached out and ran a hand through Philip’s hair to make his meaning clear. “Hair only a mother could love.”  
  
“Ron!” Hermione gasped as she swooped in and picked up Philip protectively. “People are always commenting on Philip’s hair and saying how beautiful it is. He’s proud of it! Aren’t you, Honey? Philip has lovely red hair.”  
  
“Lovely red,” Philip repeated, pointing to Ron. “Same!”  
  
“He’ll hate it in a few years, mark my words,” Ron mumbled, finally standing up. He saw that Hermione was still gaping at him in muted horror and he decided to change the subject. “Do you have coffee? I didn’t sleep very well last night.”  
  
“Oh, yes, somewhere,” Hermione said, setting Philip down and turning towards the kitchen, looking happy for the distraction. “I don’t drink it myself, but Harry likes it. I buy it even though I think he ought to lay off the caffeine. It’s actually quite bad for you. Diuretics can cause you to dehydrate if you’re not careful, did you know that?”  
  
“I’ll risk it,” Ron said dryly as he watched Philip run off to play in the living room with his blocks. “So, Harry’s here often, is he?”  
  
“Not as often as I like,” Hermione said offhandedly, obviously too focused on finding the coffee in her cabinet to hear the sharp edge to Ron’s voice.  
  
“Are you two sleeping together?”  
  
“What?” Hermione said, dropping a tin of tea as her head whipped around to stare at Ron.  
  
Ron shrugged, trying to appear casual. “It’s an honest question. You two are obviously close, more so than I remember in school.”  
  
“You told me last night that he was sleeping with your sister. You should know that Harry isn’t the type of man to cheat on her!” Hermione said shrilly, looking aghast.  
  
“Yes, wonderful Harry,” Ron said vindictively as he walked into Hermione’s small kitchen and looked into the cabinet she was digging through. He spotted the coffee tin on the top shelf and reached above Hermione’s head to take it down. “He and Ginny’s arrangement is more one of convenience than anything else. She’s suggested the possibility of you and Harry herself, and I notice you didn’t deny it.”  
  
Hermione grabbed the coffee from Ron, flushing again, only this time her eyes were burning in anger. “Harry and I are not sleeping together. He’s my friend, my very dear friend and that’s it.”  
  
“Just thought I’d ask. . . Though, I guess if you’d been sleeping with him, you would’ve had him help you out with the baby making. Why have a Weasley when you can have a Potter instead?”  
  
Ron winced inwardly at how awful and bitter his words sounded, but he couldn’t take them back, even when Hermione lashed out at him, shoving at his chest with more force than should have been allowed from someone of her size.  
  
“You will not insult my son or his parentage!” Hermione hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “That child is my life and if you think I’m just going to stand by and let you pass your insecurities off on him, you are sorely mistaken. There is nothing wrong with red hair or being a Weasley and if you don’t know that by now then I feel very sorry for you!”  
  
“Oh, he’s a Weasley now? Why am I willing to bet that his last name is Granger?”  
  
“If you have issues with claiming him as a Weasley, you are free to leave,” Hermione said, gesturing towards the door.  
  
“My only issue with claiming him as a Weasley is that his mother never thought to tell me he was mine to claim!”  
  
“What do want from me, Ron?” Hermione said tiredly. “I’ve said I was sorry and I meant it.”  
  
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Ron said, feeling very defeated all of a sudden. “It won’t give me back the last three years.”  
  
He didn’t wait for Hermione to say anything as he turned around and headed for the living room. He sat on the couch, taking in deep breaths and willing his heartbeat to fall into a steady rhythm again. Hermione had him feeling fifteen again. He thought he had a handle on his anger, on his God-given talent for flying off the handle at every little thing that annoyed him, but now he was right back where he’d bloody started.  
  
As a distraction, he looked over to Philip, who was still happily playing with his blocks, stacking them in small towers only to knock them down and dance in the destruction and then starting over again with the building. He was talking to himself, and it took a few seconds for Ron to realize that the reason that he wasn’t putting together the meaning of his babble was because he was speaking in French.  
  
He marveled at him, listening to the broken, childish French in awe. Most children could barely speak one language at his age, but it was obvious that Philip was well on his way to mastering two.  
  
His son wasn’t just full of energy, bounding and happy in a way that reminded Ron strongly of the twins--he was brilliant. It was at that moment that the impact of everything really sank in for Ron. He had a son, an amazing one. Philip hadn’t just inherited Hermione’s soft brown eyes, but her sharp intellect.  
  
He’d always loved children. They had a natural goodness about them that made the war bearable, and gave him hope on days when he felt like there was none left to be found. How bitterly unfair was it that this incredible little boy was his own flesh and blood, and yet he knew nothing about him? In a flash, the bitterness he’d been holding onto about Hermione’s trickery dissipated, replaced a resounding hurt over being robbed of knowing his own son. He’d already missed so much, and the pain of that loss felt like more than he could bear.  
  
Before he even realized he was doing it, he had slipped off the couch and crawled over to where Philip was playing. Ron started stacking the blocks one on top of the other, mimicking his son’s actions and Philip stopped work on his own tower to smile at him.  
  
“Play!” he said, obviously thrilled that someone else beside him could appreciate the fun of blocks. “Daddy play?”  
  
Again, Ron’s heart clenched at the name, and he was surprised that Philip had remembered, but he didn’t show any outward signs of being affected. “Sure, what are we building?”  
  
“A tower,” Philip said, and then stacked a few more blocks on top of the ones he’d already piled up. “A dragon knocks ‘em down. . . POW!”  
  
Ron laughed when Philip pushed over the tower and then stomped in the destruction. “A dragon, huh? You have an uncle who used to work with dragons, did you know that?”  
  
Philip paused, his face lighting up in excitement. “Uncle Harry! He fights dragons!”  
  
“He does?” Ron said, smirking and arching a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure?”  
  
“He fights the biggest one,” Philip said, his eyes wide, as though reliving the story.  
  
Ron laughed again. “If you say so.”  
  
“Come now, surely your memory hasn’t gone that foggy,” Hermione said, coming in from the kitchen. “Your daddy was there when Uncle Harry fought that dragon, he’s just forgotten,” she said to Philip.  
  
Ron stared up at Hermione from his spot on the floor, a bit surprised at her sudden change in demeanor. She was smiling at both of them, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the couch. Remembering his agreement not to show Philip any of the tension between them, Ron pushed down his feelings of resentment and smiled back at her. “If you’re talking about the Horntail, I think fighting it is a bit of a stretch. . . More like he was trying to avoid it long enough to grab the egg.”  
  
“Jealous?” Hermione asked, looking amused.  
  
“No,” Ron said a little too quickly, feeling his ears burn and once again being reminded of fifteen. “I was just pointing out an error in the story.”  
  
“Ah, I see,” Hermione said, sounding very practical. “Well, if you’d like to be on level playing ground. I’m sure you have a story or two to share. . .with both of us.”  
  
“I have a few.” Ron could feel that she was reaching out to him subtly and he didn’t feel like rising to her bait. “But none that would be appropriate to share with present company.”  
  
“No? Then I’ll have to remember one myself.” Hermione lifted her dressing gown as she sat on the couch, and then smoothed out the wrinkles in the material, as she appeared to think deeply. “How about the time you sacrificed yourself on McGonagall's giant chess board?”  
  
Philip clapped and plopped down amid his blocks, but Ron groaned in complaint, distraught to find his ears were still burning. “Hermione.”  
  
Hermione smiled smugly. “If you don’t want to tell it then I’ll have to.”  
  
“That’s not very exciting,” Ron said, knowing that a giant chess figure could hardly compare to dragon.  
  
“I thought it was exciting. I think my heart stopped beating when I saw you fall,” Hermione whispered, the smugness gone as she looked at Ron, her eyes naked with emotion.  
  
Ron stared at her, feeling like his own heart had stopped beating. He didn’t want to see that much in her eyes; it made it very hard to be mad at her. They hardly knew each other anymore, but still, she had been his friend, and it was hard to forget that she was the only woman outside his family that had ever truly cared for him.  
  
“I think the coffee’s done,” Ron said, and stood up.  
  
He ignored the look of hurt on Hermione’s face, and went to the kitchen. The coffee wasn’t done, but he contented himself with watching the coffee brew. He poked at the little red light that came from Hermione’s strange coffee pot, pushing the button above it and then frowned when it stopped brewing. He pushed it again, and it started again. Now fascinated, he turned it around, following the white cord that linked to a hole in the wall. He recognized the plug from his father’s old collection, but he’d never seen how they actually worked.  
  
“Don’t touch that!”  
  
Ron had been jiggling the plug, making the coffee stop it’s brewing once again when Hermione yelled at him and he jumped, dropping the cord immediately. “Why not?”  
  
“You could hurt yourself!” Hermione said, brushing past him and pushing the plug back into the wall.  
  
Ron frowned, and reached out to touch the plug again, wondering if it would get hot because of the coffee, but Hermione smacked his hand away. “Will it burn me?”  
  
“Sort of. Electricity is very dangerous. . . It could shock you,” Hermione said, and then pushed the button on the coffee maker, making it start to brew again.  
  
“If it’s so dangerous, why is it here?” Ron said in concern, noting now that he’d seen several holes in the wall like the one Hermione’s coffee pot was currently connected to. “Philip could hurt himself.”  
  
“He knows not to touch them.”  
  
Ron still wasn’t appeased, and he had moved over to her stove, opening it up cautiously, half expecting it to blow up on him. He closed the oven door, and then leaned over to turn the knobs. He couldn’t read what they said, because all the words were in French, but it suddenly didn’t matter, because Hermione was swatting at his hand again.  
  
“That turns the unit on. You’ll catch your shirt on fire,” Hermione said, sounding a little frazzled. “Just don’t touch anything if you don’t know what it does.”  
  
“How am I going to eat if I don’t know how the stove works?” Ron asked, eyeing the stove wearily.  
  
“I can cook, Ron.” A small smile crept up on Hermione’s face, making Ron’s breath catch. Merlin, but he’d forgotten how easily she could affect him.  
  
“You don’t have to cook for me,” Ron said, turning towards a large white cabinet as a distraction. He opened it and jerked back when a blast of cold air hit him. He stuck his head inside, intrigued. “What is this?”  
  
“It’s a refrigerator. . . It keeps the food cold.” Hermione reached past him and pulled open a clear drawer. She pulled out a package of eggs, and showed it to him. “See, so it doesn’t spoil. You keep things in here that would normally go bad if it was left out.”  
  
Ron touched one of the eggs, still baffled. “Why not just cast a preservation charm on them to keep them from spoiling?”  
  
Hermione shrugged and then put the eggs back in the drawer. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just easier to put it in the refrigerator.”  
  
“Huh,” Ron mumbled, leaning in to open the drawers. He stared at the different foods, many with odd packaging. “I wonder if I could make Ginny something like this. . . Does the food last a long time in the cold?”  
  
“Several weeks, sometimes longer, depending on what it is,” Hermione said, and then reached to the top part of the cabinet and pulled the other door open. “See, this is a freezer. It freezes things, and you can leave food in there months at a time.” Hermione pulled out a cardboard package, and showed it to Ron. “Like sausage and other meats that you won’t use right away. Plus, ice cream, or ice for your drinks . . You can even keep leftovers.”  
  
Ron took the package from her, staring at the picture of sausage, and then poking at the picture when it didn’t move. “Neat,” he said, and then put the package back on the shelf. “Is it ekeltric too?”  
  
“Yes,” Hermione said, and Ron could hear the smile in her voice. “It runs off electricity.”  
  
“I know Ginny would like this. . .It’d save her a lot of time. I wonder if it’d work with a wood cabinet or if I’d have to use some other type of material,” Ron said, thinking out loud as he inspected the door, running his hand over the edges and feeling the padding, obviously put there for insulation. “Maybe I could find an old muggle one, and just cast the cooling charms on it. I’d probably have to experiment to get the temperature right, but I like the freezing idea. To have ice anytime you wanted it without having to cast a freezing charm. . .That’s wicked.”  
  
“Do you do a lot for Ginny?”  
  
He shrugged as he moved back down to the refrigerator to look at the different shelves and drawers. “We all try to help her out, but my brothers are all married. . . So most of it falls on my shoulders.”  
  
“That’s a big responsibility,” Hermione said, as she leaned back against the counter. “How many children does she have?”  
  
“Eight right now, but she has two more at Hogwarts,” Ron said, feeling a bit nostalgic. He hadn’t seen Harry or Hannah since summer break, and he missed them. “We’re looking forward to getting them back for Christmas break.”  
  
“Couldn’t you find homes for them?” Hermione said, now obviously very intrigued. “The children at Hogwarts, I mean. It seems so sad that no one cold offer them a home if they’re in school most of the time.”  
  
“Usually we can find them homes before they get to Hogwarts, but Harry and Hannah are sort of special. . . We’re attached to them. I’m sure they’ll be with us until they leave school.”  
  
“Does she have room for all those children?”  
  
“Well, she’s only supposed to have nine at the most. . . Sometimes my mum and dad will take in the younger children, since they have all those empty rooms at the Burrow and the twins--Harry and Hannah--have stayed at my flat on break if Ginny’s place is too crowded,” Ron said, closing the refrigerator and turning towards Hermione. “We make do.”  
  
“Wow, Ron, I had no idea. . . That’s so noble to take in homeless children. Not very many people would do that. It sounds like you really care for them.”  
  
Hermione was staring at him. The admiration was thick in her voice, and for some reason that made him uncomfortable. Maybe there was a side of him that still longed for Hermione’s approval despite everything and he was unnerved by it.  
  
“Is it done?” Ron asked, turning from her and tapping at the glass coffee pot. The steady stream of coffee had stopped, and he really was in desperate need of it. A headache had started to throb at his temples from the lack of sleep.  
  
Hermione grabbed a cup from her cabinet and poured the coffee into it. “Here,” she said, handing him the steaming mug and Ron gratefully took it. “Do you need cream or sugar?”  
  
“No, this is fine,” Ron said as he turned to leave the kitchen, already reaching into his pocket for his tobacco tin. “Do you mind if I just step out on the balcony for a fag. . . I don’t want to leave the flat.”  
  
Hermione pursed her lips, and he almost welcomed a tirade—preferred it to the quiet hurt he’d seen in her all morning. But, she just sighed and shook her head. “That’s fine. . . Harry has an ashtray out there.”  
  
Wishing that he’d put his jumper back on, Ron shivered from the cold Paris morning as he sat at the small table that decorated Hermione’s balcony. The crisp air seemed to clear his head a little as he smoked his cigarette and drank his coffee while listening to the early morning sounds of the Paris street below. Her flat was quaint, even if it was filled with dangerous Muggle contraptions, and it had been a long time since he’d visited France. Things were so different here than in England, where the ravages of war were obvious everywhere. The magical war had risen to such extremes that it had even started to affect the Muggle communities. There was always some insane explanation for the catastrophes, terrorists, gas explosions, natural disasters, but there were only so many excuses you could hand out before it got to be suspicious. Ron often wondered why the Muggles hadn’t started questioning their rash of bad luck.  
  
How interesting that Hermione chose to live as a Muggle. He realized now that the building she lived in was clearly Muggle housing. Though, the woman who had been watching Philip the day before was obviously a witch, which made Ron wonder if perhaps there were several magical families littered through out the building; witches and wizards who, like Hermione, wanted the conveniences of Muggle inventions.  
  
How thrilled would his father be to know that his grandson was being raised knowing the in and outs of the Muggle world? He’d always stressed the importance of knowing as much as they could about Muggles. Purely by chance, his brothers had all ended up marrying firmly in the Wizarding world. Ron’s sister-in-laws were all purebloods except for Fleur who was part Veela and George’s wife Desiree, whose Muggle father had died when she was very young. Desiree knew as much about the Muggle world as George did. . . Which wasn’t much.  
  
Yes, his father would be relieved to know that Ron had ended up with a Muggleborn witch. Too bad his mother was going to kill him before his dad could enjoy the knowledge too much.  
  
Bugger, but he was in trouble. Ron rolled another cigarette as he pondered his situation, and the intense complications that went along with fathering a child with a woman he didn’t want to marry. True, many witches and wizards had ended up in loveless marriages, but Ron had never once considered that he’d be one of them. Hermione had lied and tricked him, and robbed him of knowing his son. He couldn’t forgive her for that, not ever. But, it was against everything Ron had ever believed in to let Philip go through life as a bastard.  
  
How cruel life is, Ron mused. He had loved Hermione forever, but now that love was dead, murdered by bitter betrayal. Yet, for his son’s sake he was still going to be forced to marry her.


	12. Chapter 12

For the first time in ages, Harry felt well-rested. The real world seemed miles away and he fought against the consciousness that was descending on him, pulling him from a rare happy dream.

He groaned when he realized that he was fighting a losing battle, and swatted at the hand that was lazily running its fingers through his hair. “I don’ wanna wake up.”

“Too bad sleepy head, time to rise and shine.”

Harry opened one eye, squinting against the morning sunshine that blinded him. All he could make out was a mass of red hair, and he instinctively reached up to finger it lovingly.

“You’re an evil woman, Ginny Weasley,” he pouted, and then tucked the strand of red hair behind her ear as he stared up at her. “I was having a good dream.”

She smiled, looking devious. “Yeah? Was it dirty?”

“Maybe,” he said, and then reluctantly pulled away from her to grab his glasses on her nightstand.

“Oh, tell me the details,” she said, rolling over onto her stomach and propping her chin in her hands. “Was I in it?”

Harry smiled as he looked at her. She was naked with her hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Her skin was always beautiful, but even more so in the morning sunlight. With his glasses on he could see the freckles across the bridge of her nose and scattered over her chest as she waited expectantly.

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head to get a good look at her nicely rounded bum. “You’re what dirty dreams are made of.”

“Sweeter words have never been said,” she said, leaning up on her hands and planting a kiss on his lips. “I’m so glad you stopped by last night. I’ve missed you.”

“God, I’ve missed you too,” he said, settling back down against the pillows and gathering her to his chest. “I really needed a good shag.”

Any other woman might hit him for such a statement, but Ginny laughed, snuggling up against him as she lazily traced circles over his bare chest. “Is it that bad?”

“The worst,” Harry groaned, closing his eyes and getting that feeling of just wanting to hide from reality. “Don’t you ever wish we were back in school again?”

“No, being a teenager was horrid,” Ginny said without hesitation. “Though, experimenting was fun. I miss the new feeling of everything. Other than that. . .Horrid.”

“You would say that.” Harry chuckled. “I didn’t experiment at Hogwarts, so I wouldn’t know about that part.”

“That’s a lie!”

“Is not,” he said, winking at Ginny. “I simply benefited from your experimenting and that wasn’t even until my seventh year . . . Sad, that. Made me wish I’d been corrupted by you sooner.”

Ginny hit him with her pillow, but he jerked it out of her grasp before she could get more than one good hit in. “Are you calling me a slag?” She looked properly outraged, though Harry knew it was an act.

“Never,” he said, smiling at her again and feeling like he was still at Hogwarts. Ginny always had that affect on him. “I liked your experimenting. I still wank to the thought of you and Parvati together. Even if I never saw it, just knowing was enough.” Ginny’s face fell, and he immediately regretted bringing up Parvati. No one had taken her death harder than Ginny and Harry was one of the only people who knew why. “Sorry, love. . .I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging. “Good to know I’m in your thoughts while you wank.”

That was Ginny. When life got too hard, think dirty. Sometimes it was scary how very much alike she and her brothers were. She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, looking thoughtful. “I miss her,” she sighed wistfully.

“I know. I wish I could bring her back for you. I wish I could bring them all back,” Harry said, lacing a hand behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. “Everyday this war goes on, more people die. I feel like it’s my fault.”

“That’s just stupid, Harry,” Ginny said, and then tugged on his hair, forcing him to face her. “You save lives. You don’t take them.”

“I have though,” he argued. “You know I’m not innocent. I’ve got blood on my hands, too.”

“Is that why you showed up last night?” she asked, her voice soft and reassuring. “Did you. . .”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He sighed, not wanting to give too much away but feeling like the issue with Ron, Hermione and Philip was strangling him. “It’s sort of personal. For once, it has nothing to do with this fucking war.”

Ginny was quiet for a second, and he went back to staring at the ceiling before she spoke again. “If you have a girlfriend, Harry. . .You can tell me about it.”

He snorted. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Then what is it?”

Harry shook his head again, still looking at the ceiling. “I can’t say. I’m just really glad I got to see you last night. You make my life bearable.”

“A secret you can’t tell me,” she said, arching an amber eyebrow at him. “It must be bad.”

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” he said, smiling slightly at her obvious curiosity. “It’s not my secret to tell or you know I’d have already told you. . . So don’t look at me like that.”

“Fine, you don’t have to tell me,” she said, obviously put out at him. “I have to get ready anyway.”

“Oh, don’t go. It could be ages before I can come back,” he said, reaching out and pulling her back. “Ginny, I know you don’t want to hear it . . . But, you’re the only one I’m ever with.”

Ginny gave him a bored stare. “I know you’ve been with other women, Harry.”

Harry laughed at her and her constant attempts to make up a love for him. “Who?”

“Lavender.”

“Drunk. Doesn’t count.”

“Laura from your office,” she said, looking triumphant.

“Ugh, a mistake. Made me wish I was drunk just to make it bearable. She still pesters me. Ron’s never let me hear the end of it.”

Ginny laughed. “What about that model . . . What was her name?”

“Ah, Victoria,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “She was okay, I guess.”

“Most blokes would give anything to sleep with a Madam Malkin’s model.”

“Most blokes haven’t already slept with Ginny Weasley then.” He ran a hand through her red hair, letting his fingers linger in the silky red strands. “You’ve ruined me for all other women. You’ll have to sleep with the pretty birds for both of us.”

Ginny laughed at that. “You know that was just a school thing. Sorry to disappoint, but I prefer men.”

“A shame, that.”

“You didn’t seem to think that was such a shame last night,” she said coyly, her voice taking on that husky tone that always drove Harry mad.

“True,” he said, and then waggled his eyebrows at her. “I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to test out your preference again this morning, either.”

Ginny leaned over to look at the clock and then turned back to him and pulled his glasses off his face, setting them on the nightstand. “We have to make it fast. The kids will be up soon.”

“Is the door still locked?” Harry asked, knowing that sometimes Ginny got up in the middle of the night to check on the kids while they were sleeping. He’d hate to get caught and traumatize one of the kids. He was always paranoid about it, but Ginny was ever diligent. She didn’t mess around when it came to protecting her babies.

“Yup,” she said, and them leaned down and captured his lips.

Harry laced his fingers through her hair, holding her to him as her tongue slipped into his mouth. Ginny set his blood on fire. She was so full of life, so incredibly passionate about everything she did. And she wondered why Harry didn’t bother to date anymore? Other women just seemed dull next to her.

She straddled him, and Harry moaned into her mouth, his hips thrusting up on their own accord when he felt all that smooth, beautiful skin against his own. Her breasts were pressed against his bare chest, and he could feel that her nipples were already hard.

He let one hand trail down her bare back, tracing the curve of her spine until he was gripping her firm arse, pressing her closer to him as he continued to let her explore his mouth. He always found it extremely arousing that she could take the lead so easily. It was nice not to have to be the one in charge. He did that enough in real life, and Ginny was one of the few women who understood that about him.

Ginny’s hand snaked between their straining bodies, gripping at his cock that was already painfully hard for her. His head jerked back as she expertly stroked him. “Gods, you’re amazing,” he groaned.

“You’re so easy to please, Harry,” she said breathlessly as she flipped her hair back and smiled down at him.

“I-is that a bad thing?”

She was still stroking him, and Harry was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of her hand moving up and down in a perfect pace that he was certain no other woman could master.

“No, it’s one of the things I love about you. With you every time is like the first time,” she whispered in his ear, her hot breath making the hair on the back of his neck prickle in arousal. “You always act so amazed.”

“Mmm, that’s cause it’s always as amazing as that first time,” Harry rasped, having to squeeze his eyes shut against her hovering over him, her pink tipped breasts swaying to the rhythm of her hand on his cock. “I wank to that, too.”

“Tell me,” she breathed.

“Can’t talk, Gin,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

“Tell me, Harry,” she said, her voice more demanding. “I like to know what you think about when you do this to yourself.”

“You,” he said, as he took several deep breaths. “On Christmas hols at Grimmauld place. I hated that place and I-I was in Sirius’ room.”

“Sulking,” she filled in.

“Right, and you came in and told me that . . . that it was time for me to move on. That Sirius wouldn’t want me mourning him for so long.”

“Get to the good bits, Harry,” Ginny said, a small laugh puffing out against his neck. “Before we both start crying.”

Harry laughed back, knowing that even like this he tended to get a bit morose. “We fought. I told you to get the hell out. I tried to push you out the door, but you pushed back and I ended up on my back on the bed.”

“And you looked so good there,” she said, the smile back in her voice. “Is the part where I ravish you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a smile creeping up his lips as the memory flashed back at him. “God, I was so stunned. One minute we were fighting and the next you’re kissing me and pulling at my belt.”

“Still you tried to stop me,” she said and then licked at the crook of his neck. “Why?”

“It was wrong. You were Ron’s sister, and I knew everyone was downstairs,” he said, unable to choke back another laugh. “I could just imagine them walking in with you sprawled over me, seeing your mouth on my neck and your hands down my trousers. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.”

“Then what happened?”

“You t-touched me,” he moaned, tossing his head further back against the pillow as he gripped at her arse once more. “And it felt really fucking good.”

“My poor Harry, no one had ever touched you,” she said as she nibbled at his ear. “I knew you needed it. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“And then,” Harry said breathlessly, “you asked me if you could go down on me.”

“And you said no,” Ginny pouted.

“Your family was downstairs,” he said, trying and failing to sound indignant. “You never had any sense back then.”

“So how’d I talk you into it if you were being so sensible?”

“This is the best part,” Harry said, unable to hold back a smile knowing he must look like a grinning idiot. “You said, ‘Oh please, Harry. . .I’ve never done it on a bloke.’”

Ginny laughed. “That was sexy to you?”

“Fuck, yes,” Harry rasped, finding that just the memory mixed with Ginny’s hand on his cock was making it very hard to hold back. “It made me start wondering who you’d gone down on if it wasn’t a bloke.”

“Kinky, even back then,” Ginny said, and he could feel her smile against his shoulder. “I love it.”

“You corrupted me. I’d never even thought about it before then, but the image of you and another girl was just. . .Wow, it was hot.” Harry opened his eyes and squinted at her, seeing that her cheeks had flushed and she was staring back at him, biting at her bottom lip. “And it just hit me that here was this incredibly beautiful, sexual woman, and I’d been so blind not to have seen it before then. I’d been so caught up in all the shit and I’d missed it. It was as if the world had opened up to me. It sounds stupid, but I started living again after that afternoon.”

“Oh, Harry.” Ginny stopped stroking him, but Harry didn’t mind because in the next moment her hands reached up to cup his face as she looked at him lovingly, and he reveled in the affection. “You’re beautiful to me, too. So very beautiful.”

Her mouth captured his once more, and he returned her soft kiss, their tongues touching, savoring each other as the passion simmered between them.

Harry cradled her to him as he rolled them both over. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and Gods, it felt so good just to be next to her, skin to skin, with her hands still tangled in his hair. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as she moaned and arched up into him.

He reached down, running a hand along one lengthy, shapely thigh. His fingers slid between her thighs, and he moaned when he felt how wet she was. It never stopped amazing Harry that she could be so aroused for him.

When he pushed two fingers inside her, she gasped against his mouth. Her hips moved impatiently against his hand, and she tried to pull her mouth away from him, but he refused her. His other hand fisted in her hair, holding her head as he continued to kiss her.

As much as Harry was enjoying just touching her, he was aware that they didn’t have much time. He withdrew his fingers then gripped his cock, pushing himself into her tight, wet heat with one hard stroke.

“Oh Gods,” Ginny rasped, finally succeeding in pulling away from him as her head jerked back.

Harry groaned at the feeling of her wrapped around him, and he pulled out only to slam back into her a second later, loving the little gasp she made when he did so. His hands were fisted in her pillow as he pushed up and started thrusting his body in and out of hers. He squinted, cursing his eyesight as he stared down at her, seeing her mouth open, her lips red from his kisses. Each movement of his hips against her caused a sound to escape Ginny and he savored each one, not knowing when he’d be able to hear them again.

“Come here,” he said, and then pulled her up with him as he leaned back on his haunches and settled her in his lap. “Ravish me.”

Ginny’s laugh was throaty as she flipped her hair and buried her face into the crook of his neck. Harry’s hands gripped at her back, holding her while she moved sensually over him. His head lolled to the side when her lips wandered down his throat, leaving fire in their wake.

They stayed like that, moving slowly, languidly with practiced ease. He loosened his grip on her back just enough for her to fall back slightly and present her breasts to him. He leaned down, capturing one rosy nipple with his mouth, feasting on her as she arched into him. Her fingers were back in his hair, gripping at it as his tongue laved over the hardened tip. He released it only to move over to the neglected breast.

“Oh, Gods, yes, Harry,” Ginny gasped, her fingers tugging at his hair almost painfully. “I’m right there.”

“Then, come for me,” he growled against her breast. He gripped her waist, pulling her tight against him as he thrust up into her. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

She tugged on his hair, forcing his head back so that she could look at him. “I always mean it.”

“And that’s why I love you so fucking much,” he said, feeling like he was dying as waves of hot desire rolled over him, making that coil of need tighten in his stomach.

Ginny started moving against him with purpose, riding him hard as her nails dug into his back. Harry’s head fell back as she started making those little gasping sounds again. He clenched his jaw against the release that was threatening to consume him, when Ginny stiffened and cried out, her hips pushing harder against his as she climaxed.

He didn’t even let her catch her breath as he leaned forward, pushing her into the mattress as he took control again, his body falling over hers as he started fucking her hard. His hands gripped her wrists, holding them over her head as she started to moan again.

He forced his eyes open, squinting against the need as he watched her head thrash on the pillow, making Ginny look completely wanton. The sound of her coming a second time undid him. His hips pumped in rhythm to his climax as Ginny gasped for breath beneath him, and he had to lean down and bury his face in her hair to muffle his groan of gratification as pleasure exploded inside him.

He rolled off Ginny when the rippling after affects of his orgasm finally stopped, and fell heavily to the bed. His body was sweaty, sated, and he relished the peacefulness that shimmered over him as his heartbeat started to return to normal.

“That was lovely,” Ginny said, her voice still sultry with sex as she draped herself over him.

“Ummm, hmmm,” Harry mumbled, smiling breathlessly at her in amazement and letting his hand trail back down her back. For several minutes he enjoyed the peacefulness that came with just being with Ginny. She was the only one who could chase away the anxiety that had been his constant companion for longer than he could be remember, and he wanted to hold onto the relaxation for as long as he could. “Can you reach my fags?” he asked when he was finally able to form words coherently.

“Good enough for a fag.” Ginny leaned up and grabbed Harry’s cigarettes off her nightstand. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her as he reached around her to pull a cigarette out of his pack and then tossed it back onto the nightstand. “I feel great. I swear. I’m going to quit my job and become your full-time love slave.”

Ginny sat up, pushing her hair behind her as she swung her legs off the bed and leaned over to open the drawer of her nightstand, pulling out a well-hidden ashtray from the back of it. “Sounds good to me, but I know how much you make and unfortunately I can’t afford you.”

Harry lit his cigarette with his wand that he’d slipped beneath Ginny’s pillow the night before. He leaned up on his elbow as he studied Ginny and smoked his cigarette, feeling so at peace with the world that he hated to leave her bedroom and ruin it.

Ginny stole the cigarette from him after a few seconds. She took a few drags off it before she tapped it on the ashtray and handed it back to him. “Cast a deodorizing charm, would you, Harry? I don’t want the kids to know you’re smoking in the house.”

“How d’you do that?” he asked, watching her as she leaned back against the bed and stretched lazily.

“Do what?”

“Just smoke sometimes. I hate that,” he said, and then as an after thought he grabbed his wand and cast a deodorizing charm like Ginny had asked. “It drives me mad. I know how addictive these things are.”

Ginny shrugged as she took the cigarette from him again. “I dunno. I just don’t need them. The only time I ever feel like having one is when I’m around you or Ron.”

“Weird.”

“My mum would go spare if she knew I smoked,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes as she tapped the cigarette on the ashtray once more and then handed it back to Harry. “She’s still freaking out over Ron and he’s been smoking for nine years.”

“Your mum would go spare over a lot of things you do,” Harry said, arching an eyebrow at her as she got up and laid his clothes on the bed. “Smoking is the least of them.”

“Mmm, true,” Ginny agreed and then smiled at him. “Guess we better not tell her, huh?”

“I’m not telling if you’re not.”

Ginny made a motion of sealing her lips and then throwing away the key, which was incredibly cute when she was naked, with her long hair tumbling over her shoulders, hiding her breasts from view. She looked just like a goddess with her nipples peeking out at him through the strands of amber hair. Her legs were long and shapely, her hips rounded, her waist small, her stomach flat. She was so gorgeous; she took his breath away.

“I love you,” he said, feeling awed at the sight of her.

“I know, Harry. I love you too. You know that. I still think you need a girlfriend, though. We can’t keep doing this forever.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t get married. I have my kids and they’re a handful. That’s too much to put on anyone, especially you. I feel like I’m holding you back.”

“Ginny, I can’t get married either,” Harry said, and almost laughed at the notion. He took another drag off his cigarette as he looked at her. “My whole life is this damn war. I’m a workaholic. I’m gone for weeks at a time. I get owls at all hours of the day and night and even if I could find someone to put up with all that, you know that any wife of mine would be a target for Voldemort. I wouldn’t do that to someone I hated, let alone someone I could stand long enough to marry.”

“That’s a shame,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head as she leaned down and took his cigarette. She puffed on it with a flare and then blew smoke at him. “Because I think you’d make a lovely husband. Your wife would always have a smile on her face if you fuck her half as well as you fuck me. Plus, you’re rich. What more could a girl ask for?”

Harry laughed as he watched her once again tap the cigarette on the ashtray before she handed it back to him. “What? Are you worried I’m going to burn your sheets?”

“I’ve got three sets with holes in them thanks to you,” she said, looking at him sternly. “But you’re forgiven because I’m still in an excellent mood even if you won’t tell me your secret.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” he yelled after her as she walked towards the bathroom in her room.

“Yes, do that. Make them Egyptian cotton. Five hundred thread count, please,” she said, and then peeked her head out from behind the bathroom door. “Or if you’d rather. . .You could just give me the money and I’ll pick them out to save you bother.”

“How much are Egyptian cotton sheets?”

“About fifteen gallons.”

Harry coughed. “You’re mad. . . For sheets?”

“And then I’d have to get a new comforter to match. Curtains. Rugs . . . I’d end up having to redo my whole bedroom,” Ginny said, smiling at him from the crack between the bathroom door and the wall. “It could get quite expensive.”

“Do you need money, Ginny?” Harry asked, feeling a little too lazy to play this game with her right now.

“Yes, some crazy man keeps ruining all my sheets.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “How about if we discuss the replacement of your sheets while I wash your back?”

“As long as you don’t get distracted,” she said from the bathroom. “It’s past seven. The kids’ll be up soon.”

“I’ll try to behave.”

Harry put out his cigarette and headed towards the bathroom. He didn’t think he could get anymore relaxed, but the hot water from the shower did him in. God bless Ron and his handyman skills, because the water heater was working splendidly.

“Shove over, Potter. You’re hogging all the hot water,” Ginny said, elbowing him out of the way as she handed him a washcloth and a bottle of her body wash. “You said you were going to wash my back.

Washing Ginny’s back wasn’t really a chore. She had a beautiful back, long and nicely curved. She was nearly his height, having inherited the tall Weasley genes instead of the stocky ones, for which Harry was greatly appreciative because she fit so nicely against him like that. Still soapy, he pressed against her back and leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder as he reached around to wash her front, letting his hands linger over her breasts as the hot water beat down on them.

“So, the sheets. . .”

“Three sets. I can show them to you if you don’t believe me.”

“No, I believe you. How much are they going to cost me?”

“How much do you have to spare?”

Harry smiled, letting his hands run over her legs, trying desperately not to get distracted. “I have lots to spare. I’m rich, remember. . . I’ve got way too much money for my own good and I make an obnoxious amount for the shit job that I have. I think they’re worried I’m going to quit, so they keep tossing money at me.”

“Twenty galleons,” Ginny said, and then took the washcloth from him when his hands ventured towards the inside of her thighs. “I think you’re getting distracted.”

“Twenty galleons?” Harry said, looking at her seriously when she turned to him. “Ginny, come on. How much do you need?”

Ginny shrugged, and turned back the shower. “I don’t have an exact number.”

“Take a guess.”

Ginny was silent, and that made Harry very nervous. He forced her to turn to him when the silence became unbearable. When she did, her eyes were downcast, her eyelashes looking like half moons on her cheeks. He put his finger under her chin and lifted it until she met his eyes. “How much do you need, Ginny?”

She licked her lips nervously. “I missed the payment on the house . . . Twice.”

“What!” Harry shouted, looking at her incredulously. “Ginny, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just. . .” She bit her lip, and Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “You haven’t been by and for some reason all my other donators to the Orphanage haven’t been giving much. I think the war is getting to everyone. People don’t have money to donate like they used to. I’d get another job, but with eight kids. I don’t have the time.”

“You don’t have to get a job,” Harry said, wanting to shake her. “You know I’d have given you the money. You should have told me you were in trouble.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was using you,” she said, wincing. “I hate having to ask you for money. I really do. I know we have fun. . . But really, I hate that I have to depend on you.”

“I’m not giving the money to you,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “I’m giving it to the kids.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said, looking miserable.

“No, it’s true, Gin. Don’t you remember the horrible place I grew up? I know how much it sucks to be an orphan. I want them to be here with you. You’re wonderful with them. Hell, I wish I’d had a mother like you.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, well, not exactly like you . . . That’d be weird,” he said, smiling. “But you know what I mean.”

“I have my figures down in my office,” she said, still looking uncomfortable. “I’d have to add everything up, but Harry . . . It’s too much. You can’t catch me up by yourself.”

“Please tell me you aren’t being serious,” Harry said, and then reached out and gripped her bare shoulders. “Ginny, come to Gringotts with me. We’ll have them make you a key. You can just go and take whatever you need. We can stop playing games.”

“Harry, no.”

“Yes, I insist. I’m going to owl Bill today and have him make you one. He can sidestep all the technical shit. You won’t even have to be there.”

“I can’t take your vault key, Harry,” Ginny whined, and then reached out, hugging him fiercely. “But, thank you so much for offering. I love you!”

“I love you, too.” He pulled her away from him and looked at her. “Ginny, you’re everything to me. You’ve been the only sane thing in my life for years. I’ve got more money then I can spend in ten lifetimes. I’m not full of shit when I say that. I give it away all the time and it still seems grow. Bill’s too good at investing it for me.”

Ginny shook her head, wringing the washcloth in her hands nervously. “I c-can’t.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, be stubborn! Let the kids starve.”

“Mum would never let us starve,” she said weakly, and if Harry weren’t so annoyed he would have laughed at her need to always have the last word.

“You’re taking the key. I’m writing Bill today and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“I won’t use it!”

“Ginny, you are a smart woman. Hell, you’re a conniving little wench most of the time,” he said, taking the washcloth from her and making quick work of soaping himself up. “I like you like that. Take the damn money.”

“Don’t you dare owl Bill,” she said, jerking the washcloth back as Harry pushed his way under the water. “He’ll think I did something illegal to get it.”

“Immoral maybe,” Harry said, trying not to smirk. “But, not illegal.”

“You don’t know my brother. He’ll jump to all kinds of conclusions.”

“He knows I would never let you do anything illegal,” Harry said, scrubbing at his scalp with more force than necessary. “I am head of the Auror division, after all.”

“Yeah, that really stops Ron. He’s pretty high up and I know he breaks all kinds of laws,” Ginny said, stepping out of the shower in a huff.

“Ginny,” Harry said, pulling back the curtain. “Don’t talk Ron into anything.”

“He doesn’t even know I’m having issues,” she said, flipping her head down so that the tips of her wet hair touched the tiled floor. “He’s been gone so much lately and when he’s here, he’s so busy with other things. I haven’t had a chance to bring it up.”

“I’m sure you had a chance, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Harry said, stepping out of the shower himself and wrapping a towel around his waist. “Don’t guilt him into anything that might get him into trouble. He’s in a whole world of shit right now. He doesn’t need you making it worse.”

Ginny leaned back up, a towel wrapped around her head as she stared at him. “The secret. It’s Ron’s, isn’t it?”

Harry hesitated, and then he turned from her when he saw the panic on her face. “Just go easy on him for a little while.”

“Harry,” Ginny said, grabbing his arms. “He’s not. . .They haven’t found out about him and. . . I know that the last one was a Ministry employee. I told him not to go after him, Harry. I did. . . even if he was a rapist bastard who deserved what Ron gave him. You know I’d never. . .”

“He’s not going to Azkaban, Ginny,” he sighed and then turned from her to walk out of the bathroom. “Don’t ask me any more.”

Ginny huffed, and Harry turned to see her actually stomp her foot in frustration. Which was sort of sexy when she was naked and dripping wet, but Harry knew he wasn’t going to get another shag out of her this morning so he started getting dressed.

He was on his last shirt button when Ginny came out her closet, already dressed. He smiled at her choice of color in robes. “Red huh? Sexy.”

“It matches my mood,” she sulked.

“Sultry?”

“Angry,” she growled at him. “Don’t you dare write my brother. I’ll never forgive you!”

“I’m scared,” he said, grabbing his wand off her bed and then leaning in to kiss her, he missed her mouth and got her cheek when she turned her head from him. He laughed. “It was lovely, Darling. Thank you.”

“I’m not through with you!” she said. “Don’t you dare leave!”

“I’d love to stay and have you finish with me, but I do have a job and I believe those are children I hear coming down the stairs.”

Ginny letting out a string of particularly colorful curse words was the last thing Harry heard before he Disapparated away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Okay, I know. . . I know. . .It took me FOREVER to get this chapter up. And yes, I know. . .It’s not Ron/Hermione stuff, but I really wanted to delve into Harry and Ginny a bit and this was the perfect place. I’d actually envisioned Harry going to Ginny’s all along after he left Hermione’s place.

So, heh. . I couldn’t resist the smut. Sue me :D

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate and I’m sorry I take so long to update. I’m sure the next chapter won’t be so long of a wait. Reviews help ::grins::

Thanks to my betas, Mrspadf00t and Jenorama. . .My dear friends SaraEK, Seakays, MadamMinnie, Claireyfairy and everyone else who helps my lagging writers ego while I work. I love you guys!

I guess that’s it. . . I’m sure I’m going to hear at least a few comments about the Ginny experimenting with girls bit. What can I say? I love to push the envelope. I’d written that Ginny/Cho outtake to this story, and though it says AU in the summary it just really fits this Ginny who likes to write herself in this story most of the time anyway. Pushy wench!


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione worked silently fixing breakfast, deciding to make pancakes for a second morning in a row despite the sugar issue. She was still worried about the impact of the Death Eater attack on Philip and she felt like indulging him a little. Besides, if Hermione remembered correctly, Ron liked pancakes too.

Ron.

Hermione sighed and tried to resist peeking around the corner of the kitchen to see if Ron was still on her balcony smoking and drinking his coffee. The last time she had looked, his back had been rigid and his motions tense as he had stared out at the street below. His presence in her flat was playing havoc with her emotions. In fact, since he’d discovered her secret about Philip the day before, Hermione had been fighting the urge to simply hide in her room and cry herself dry over the mess she’d created.

Though she’d expected it, nothing could have prepared her for the shock of having Ron look at her with that cold icy stare of his. Anger and hatred seemed to fill the very air around him and it was all directed at her. It was more than Hermione could bear, especially considering her own feelings. She still loved Ron Weasley, and when he looked at her with such intense loathing, she could almost feel her heart shattering in her chest.

It certainly didn’t help that he was even more handsome than she had remembered. So strong, so very tall, with that beautiful amber colored hair that had darkened with age, but was still such a riot of color that it made her long to run her fingers through the silky strands. She was a mess. How could she still be lusting after someone who couldn’t even stand to be in her presence, and rightfully so?

Hermione tilted her head and watched Philip play with his blocks in the living room, reminding herself that even the heartbreak was worth the precious gift of her son. He was the light of her life, and her top priority. Though she hated to admit it, she did feel safer with Ron staying at her flat. She was even able to sleep last night, having finally given in to exhaustion after she’d had another good long cry in the privacy of her room. Though she was capable of taking care of herself, Ron was a seasoned Auror, and she knew that he’d be true to his claim to protect their son.

Hermione took a shaky breath and willed herself to draw on her Gryffindor courage, because she really wasn’t feeling very strong. Not when someone she cared about so deeply no longer cared for her in return. Tears were stinging her eyes as she put three pancakes onto the warm plate next to the stove. She put more batter into the pan and only then did she sense his presence behind her.

Hermione turned around and stared at Ron who was leaning against the counter, silently watching her. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

She wiped at her eyes when she felt that the tears were going to give her away, but Ron didn’t seem to miss the action because his eyes narrowed at her. “We need to talk, Hermione.”

“Right now?” she said, and then turned back towards the pancakes in the pan. “I’m making breakfast. You must be hungry.”

Ron studied her for a second, and then made quick work of searching through her cabinets until he had located some silverware and the plates. He plated one large pancake, and then proceeded to cut it up into small squares. “Syrup?” he asked.

Hermione quietly handed him the syrup as more tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to hide them this time. She was certain Ron already knew she was an emotional wreck.

“Hey mate,” Ron called as he walked out of the kitchen and put the plate on the table. “Your mum made you pancakes.”

“Syrup?” Philip chimed; sounding too excited for words as he instantly abandoned his blocks and bounded for the dining room table.

“Yup, how’s that for breakfast?” Ron said, pouring the syrup on the pancakes and then helping Philip into his chair. “Sit here and eat while I talk to your mum.”

“Kay!” Philip said, already digging into the pancakes.

Ron stared at Philip for a second, and then he shook his head and turned back to the kitchen, his expression unreadable. Hermione turned from him, and put three more pancakes onto the plate and then switched off the stove. She was taking deep breaths to stop herself from completely breaking down as she went to the cabinet, making sure to keep her back to Ron as she pulled down a plate for him.

She was just going to ask him how many pancakes he wanted when he took the plate from her and forced her to turn to him. “I’m not hungry,” he said, his dark blue eyes boring into hers. “I need to get this off my chest while he’s distracted.”

Hermione wanted to tell him that she couldn’t handle him getting anything off his chest at the moment, but she just heaved a huge sigh and nodded. “O-okay.”

“I’m not going to pretend to understand why you decided to keep Philip from me and I’m not going to insult your intelligence by telling you that it’s okay. I’m really angry, Hermione,” he said, his eyes blazing as Hermione saw him also taking a few cooling breaths.

“I know you are,” she whispered, hating how weak her words sounded. “And I understand why you hate me.”

He nodded, and Hermione’s heart seemed to break into even smaller pieces when he didn’t deny that he hated her. The small part of her that had held onto hope collapsed, and she wiped furiously at the tears that she couldn’t hide. She was so caught up in her misery that she jerked in shock when Ron reached out and wiped at a stray tear that she’d missed as it ran down her cheek.

“Pull yourself together, Hermione,” he said, his voice soft despite his harsh words. “I know that you didn’t want me involved, but I am now and you’ll have to learn to deal with that. Philip is what’s important, nothing else.”

Hermione nodded silently, taking a few more deep breaths.

“This mess with Malfoy aside, Philip still needs a father. Harry showing up every few months isn’t enough.”

“I won’t keep him from you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re right. He does need a father. I know that you are very busy with your own life, but if you really want to be involved with Philip then I’m happy, Ron,” Hermione said, feeling a little relieved on Philip’s behalf. Even if her own relationship with Ron was in tatters, at least her son would know him.

“Did you honestly think that I’d let work or this war take precedence over my own son, Hermione?” Ron asked, sounding disappointed in her.

“You said that you couldn’t offer me anything. I assumed that your work was very important to you. People lose their lives every day because of this war, if having a family interferes with you helping the war effort then. . .”

“I’ll admit that having a family isn’t something I’d planned on. It’s a huge inconvenience in my life, and I certainly wouldn’t have chosen it,” Ron said, his voice still level which incensed Hermione even more than his words.

“If Philip is an nuisance to you. . . Then by all means, go on with your life. We did just fine without you,” she snapped, trying to keep her voice down so that Philip wouldn’t hear. “Philip does need a father, but I think he’d be better off without one if his father is going to treat him like an inconvenience.”

“I said I wouldn’t have chosen to have a family, but now that I have one I’m willing to deal with it. I’d never treat him like an inconvenience and fuck you for thinking I would.” Ron whispered, his eyes blazing.

She gasped indignantly when he cursed. “Well, excuse me for assuming that. You just said that it was an inconvenience. And believe it or not, I was thinking of you when I decided not to tell you about Philip. You made it pretty clear that you couldn’t have any emotional ties, but maybe I was just naïve in taking you for your word. That was probably the same line you fed to all the women you suckered into bed with you.”

Ron’s jaw dropped, and his face flushed red. “Suckered you? If anyone is the sucker here. . .It’s me.”

“Actually, Ron, I made everything quite clear that night. You said I could have any part of you I wanted and I wanted Philip. It’s not my fault that you assumed it was something else,” Hermione said vindictively, wanting to lash out and hurt him as badly as he was hurting her. “You said you’d remember that promise, but apparently you’ve forgotten.”

“How dare you!” Ron said in a low growl. “I loved you and you used me. You tricked me, and you’ve kept my son from me for almost three years. If you aren’t the most conniving little wench, then I don’t know who is.”

Hermione gasped, icy hot shock pouring over her. “If you loved me, you would have written me. You would have made some effort to contact me after that night. I woke up and you were gone. You couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye. Can you blame me for not telling you about Philip?”

“HE.IS.MY.SON,” Ron growled, enunciating each word. “If you were going to trick me, fine. . .You still should have told me.”

“This is going nowhere,” Hermione said as fury still flowed through her. “I’ll admit that I made a mistake, and I said I was sorry for it. I wish I could do more but I can’t. Do you want to be involved in Philip’s life or not?”

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I do,” Ron said, his voice still low and angry.

“Fine, then we’ll set up a visitation schedule once this other situation is resolved,” Hermione said, falling back on cool logic as a defense mechanism. “He goes to preschool during the week, but you can have him every other weekend. We’ll just have to arrange Portkeys.”

“Every other weekend?” Ron shocked Hermione by laughing incredulously. “You’re mad if you think I’m going to settle for only seeing my son every other weekend.”

“More on summers. He won’t have school, so you can see him for longer periods of time while he’s out on break. . .We can arrange something for Christmas break as well.”

Ron shook his head looking at a complete loss. “You’re barking if you think I’ll settle for that. I want to see him every day, not once or twice a month.”

“You can’t see him every day. I’m his mother,” Hermione said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice when she remembered Ron’s threat to take Philip from her. “He’ll have to spend some time with me.”

“Sounds to me like you want him to spend most of his time with you.”

“Ron, many parents have split custody. We’ll work something out, but you have to know that he’ll still need to be with me the majority of the time. If you care about him, you won’t separate Philip from me. He’s still very young. Being away from me for any length of time would be traumatic for him,” Hermione said, hating that tears were threatening again. “He’s my whole life. You can’t take my son from me.”

“Split custody?” Ron shook his head, looking a bit lost again. “Is that a Muggle thing?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m sure many witches and wizards have split custody of their children, Ron.”

“None that I know, Hermione. When you make a baby, you get married. That’s the way it works. Even if I was inclined to agree with this split custody thing, which I’m not, you’re completely forgetting that Philip would have to go through life as a bastard, with his mother’s name. That’s just. . .God, Hermione, that’s insane. How could you do that to your own son? It obvious that you don’t think very highly of me, but you had to know that I would have married you if you’d told me you were pregnant,” Ron said, looking aghast again. “I think my mother would faint dead on the spot at the very mention of split custody. I know I’m feeling a little queasy from it.”

Hermione just stared, feeling too numb to mutter more than, “What are you saying, Ron?”

“I’m saying we have to get married. . . Quickly. Today even, if we can arrange it.”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She started laughing. “You can’t be serious.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, his posture rigid as he looked down at her. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“N-no, you don’t look like your joking,” she said, finally getting a hold of herself. “But, I’m starting to highly question your sanity. We can’t get married.”

“Why not?” Ron said and Hermione was surprised to see that Ron actually looked insulted. “I have a solid family background, one that can be traced back several centuries. I’m not rich, but I have a good paying job and a decent savings. I’m actually a highly decorated Auror, Hermione. I’m not the bumbling idiot you remember from school and believe it or not, many witches wouldn’t mind having me for a husband. So I guess you’re going to have to make do.”

Hermione shook her head, staring at him and feeling for the first time that she really didn’t know him. It really had been a long, long time since they’d been friends in school. “Guess what, Ron. . .I don’t need your money. I also have a good paying job, and even if I didn’t, my parents left me very wealthy when they died. I work because I believe in the job I’m doing, and I live simply because I think that anything extra is a frivolous waste. Philip’s grandchildren will be able to live off the money I’ve spent over a decade investing for him. As for your family background, I guess it’s kind of hard for me to understand why you’d think a Mudblood like me would care.”

Ron winced. “I never called you a Mudblood.”

“No, you didn’t have to,” Hermione snapped, turning her back to him as she piled some pancakes onto a plate. “Sorry to dash your plans, but I’m not going to rush out and pick out a wedding dress just because a Pureblood has decided to lower himself to my level and offer marriage.” Hermione thrust the plate at Ron. “Here’s your breakfast. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

~*~

Ron just stood there in shock as he watched Hermione stomp off. He shook his head when he heard the door to Hermione’s office slam shut and then eyed the pancakes in his hand, nearly forgetting that she’d handed them to him. He shrugged his shoulders, deciding that it’d be a shame to waste them.

He was sitting at the table, watching Philip as he worked on the second large pancake he’d managed to con away from Ron when someone knocked at the door. Pulling his wand from his pocket, he walked towards the door and cautiously asked who it was.

“Snuffles Junior,” Harry answered and smiled at Ron when he opened the door. “Having a good morning?”

“Hermione’s gone mad.” Ron shook his head, still feeling very confused. “You don’t think I’m one of those Purebloods that acts like he’s better than everyone. . .Do you?”

Harry pulled a face. “No, why? What’d you do?”

“I asked Hermione to marry me.”

“I take it she said no,” Harry said, and Ron had bite back the urge to reach out and punch him when he smirked.

“Yeah.” Ron sighed. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t feel bad, mate,” Harry said, clapping Ron’s shoulder as they walked into Hermione’s flat. “I tried to give your sister a key to my vault this morning and she said she’d never forgive me if I did. Women are mental.”

“Why’d she need a key to your vault?”

Harry sighed. “She’s in debt. She missed two payments on the house.”

Ron had been pulling out the chair at the table to sit down next to Philip, but he turned sharply back to Harry. “You’re kidding?”

“Uncle Harry!” Philip said, interrupting what Harry was going to say when he jumped down from the table and launched himself at him.

“Hey, mate,” Harry said, sweeping Philip up and hugging him with an ease that surprised Ron. “What’re you eating?”

“Syrup!”

“Sounds nutritious,” Harry said, laughing. “Your mum has gone mental.”

“Mental,” Philip repeated, patting Harry on the shoulder happily. “Play, Harry!”

“Give me a bit,” Harry said, setting Philip down and ushering him towards the blocks. “Let me talk to Ro—Er, I mean, your d-dad for a second.”

Philip looked disappointed, but he went and played with his blocks, casting longing looks back at Harry as he did.

“Ugh, guilt,” Harry groaned. “I hate when he does that.”

“You two are close,” Ron mumbled, hating the jealousy that churned inside him. His son was closer to Harry than he was to him.

Harry shrugged, looking embarrassed when he turned back to him. “I try to visit when I can. It gives Hermione a break. I’ll never have my own kids. Philip is as close as I’m ever going to get, so I spoil him. Hermione hates it. She has all these weird ideas about living simply and teaching Philip to appreciate the important things in life. Somehow toy broomsticks and Chocolate Frogs interfere with that. I don’t get it.”

“Is she really rich, Harry?” Ron asked, unable to hold back the question that had been eating at him since Hermione had stomped off.

“Tossed that one out, did she?” Harry said, a small smirk playing on his lips as he watched Philip play. “You really must have hacked her off.”

Ron shook his head, feeling even more depressed. For some reason, marrying Hermione knowing that she had more money than him was deeply disturbing. He didn’t want to give up the fight for his son’s sake, but what more could he offer either of them besides his name. “Forget it,” he sighed, turning back to Harry. “Did you say Ginny missed a payment on the house?”

“No,” said Harry as he looked at Ron’s plate, eyeing the last pancake that Philip hadn’t eaten. “I said she missed two.”

“Two!” Ron said, and then lowered his voice when Philip looked over at them. “Christ, why didn’t she tell me? I would have made the payments.”

“She didn’t tell me either,” Harry said and then pointed at the pancake. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Have it,” Ron said, waving at the pancake. After the row with Hermione and now this fresh worry over Ginny, he’d completely lost his appetite. “She’s going to lose the house.”

Harry sat down, and took a bite of the pancake, chewing quickly as he looked slyly at Ron. “No, she won’t. I bought it.”

Ron gaped. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Harry said, smiling as he took another bite. He swallowed and took a sip of Ron’s coffee sitting on the table. “That’s why I’m late. I had to settle everything at Gringotts. The Goblins are greedy bastards. If it weren’t for Bill they would have fucked me on the deal, as it was I got off with only a small pre-payment penalty. I’m quite satisfied with it, if I don’t say so myself.”

“That house cost a fortune,” Ron said, shaking his head in shock.

Harry swallowed another bite of Ron’s pancake. “Tell me about it. I had no idea it cost that much. It’s no wonder she was missing payments . . I owled the deed to her along with my vault key before I took my Portkey here. I’m sure she’s having a fit right now.”

Ron laughed, wishing he could see Ginny’s face when she got that owl. He sat down next to Harry and watched him eat. He was quiet long enough that Harry turned to him, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip of coffee. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ron said, feeling at a loss and choosing his words carefully. “Just. . .Thanks. . . For Ginny, I mean. I wish I could have done that for her.”

Harry rolled his eyes, taking another sip of coffee. “You do enough for her. I know all those anonymous donations she gets come from you.”

“If I’d known she was having a hard time, I would have sent more,” Ron sighed, feeling guilty. “The twins and I talked about going in together and buying the house. We’ll give you the money for it.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry said, laughing as he set down the cup of coffee. “I’m not letting you steal my glory.”

“Glory,” Ron said, unable to hide his chuckle of disbelief. “You must not know my sister very well. She’s going to kill you.”

“Oh, I know her,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair with the cup of coffee and looking at Ron smugly. “Better than you, I think.”

Ron pulled a face. “Yeah, let’s keep it that way. I’m happy picturing her innocent and virginal.” Harry coughed; choking on the coffee and Ron had to reluctantly amend his statement. “Okay, maybe not so innocent.”

“Not by a long shot,” Harry said, and smiled evilly. “I can’t wait to see what she does about the house. . .I think it’s sexy when she’s angry. She does this pouting thing with her bottom lip--”

Ron tried not to gag. “Ugh, Harry, you’re shagging my sister and that’s fine, but don’t share the details.”

He shrugged, still looking very pleased with himself. “So, where’s Hermione?”

“In her office, hacked off at me,” Ron said, feeling miserable. “I dunno what I’m going to do. Somehow I have to convince her to marry me.”

“Yesterday you were calling her things I won’t repeat,” Harry said, his voice sounding a little steely. “What changed your mind all of a sudden?”

“I can’t let Philip go to Hogwarts with his mother’s name, that’s embarrassing, that is,” Ron said, feeling a little aghast that he had to explain himself. “And she’s going on about split custody. That’s mad. He’s my son. I have a right to see him every day, not every other weekend.”

“Always the romantic,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “That argument isn’t going to sway Hermione. Have you said one nice word to her since you’ve been here?”

“Why should I?” Ron barked, trying to keep his voice low. “If you think I’m just going to forgive her fo--”

“I can’t imagine why she said no,” Harry said dryly and then took another sip of coffee. He set the cup down on the table and then looked seriously at Ron. “You have to remember that Muggles don’t think like wizards do.”

“We aren’t Muggles!”

“True, but Hermione was raised by Muggles. She has their mentality. In the Muggle world, people don’t just get married because of a baby. That’s hopelessly old-fashioned. Muggles get married for two reasons, money or love. You’re out of luck on the money bit, because Hermione really is loaded. She’s a ruddy genius when it comes to investing. It’s a game to her. A challenge to see how much she can make. I don’t think she really cares about the money to be honest so even if she wasn’t rich you’d be out of luck.”

“Great,” Ron said, letting his head drop on his hands as he took another cooling breath. “So, what, I’m supposed to convince her that I love her. Just pretend to forget that she robbed me of the chance to know my son.”

“Well, I dunno,” Harry said, sounding surprisingly sympathetic. “I’m no expert on women, but I don’t think stomping around and acting like you can’t stand her is going to help your cause. Maybe if you could at least be civil to her, you might stand a chance of talking her into marriage since the wizarding world is old-fashioned about certain things and Philip is a wizard. He has to live in the world he was born in.”

It was too much, Ron couldn’t think on it anymore, so he focused on something else, looking at Harry curiously. “Philip is a wizard, right? He’s shown signs of magic.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, he’s a wizard. I’m sure he’ll be Head Boy just like his father.”

“I don’t care about that. I was just wondering,” Ron said, feeling a flush rise on his neck. “It doesn’t matter, really.”

“It does matter,” Harry said, still smiling. “I had to listen to Hermione whine about it for months after he was born. She started reading statistics about increased chances of having a Squib if one of the parents is Muggle-born and about gave herself a heart attack until three picture frames shattered while he was having a fit. Hermione was so relieved, she cried.”

“He’s really smart, isn’t he?” Ron asked, hating that he had to ask Harry about his son, but it was easier than asking Hermione. “I noticed that he was speaking French.”

“Yeah, his speech is really advanced. Hermione works with him constantly. She’s totally obsessive about his education. You should see the preschool he goes to. Posh isn’t the word. I can’t fathom how much she pays for it. He’ll be reading soon, I’m sure.”

Ron turned to watch Philip playing with his blocks, listening to his broken French as a wave of intense pride washed over him. “He’s as brilliant as his mother.”

“Of course,” Harry said, picking up the coffee again. “Lets hope he takes it stride and doesn’t turn out like Percy.”

“Percy’s not brilliant, he’s greedy. There’s a very big difference. No one with brains would work for Death Eaters,” Ron rasped, feeling anger boil in his chest as he thought of his older brother. “Philip won’t turn out like him.”

“I know he won’t,” Harry said. “He’ll be fine. He’s a good kid. I’ve already told you that.”

Ron nodded, feeling the need once again to change the subject. “So are you going to go question those arseholes who were with Malfoy yesterday?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to stop by here first,” Harry said, looking thoughtful as he stared into his coffee, he was quiet long enough to make Ron nervous, but then he spoke, his voice serious. “Listen, I think you should tell Ginny about Philip.”

Ron shook his head, hating that he couldn’t tell his sister about his son. He and Ginny were too close and she had a way of crumpling his emotional walls. She was the only one he’d let see him cry, and there was a side of him that really felt like breaking down over this whole situation. “I’m not ready. . . Not yet.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of coffee before he winced and looked back at Ron. “I sort of let it slip that you were having issues.”

“Christ, Harry, do you have to tell my sister everything,” Ron said, pulling a face and resisting the urge to lash out at his best friend. This was the last thing he needed. Sometimes it was really inconvenient that his best mate and his sister were shag buddies. “The sex can’t be that good.”

Harry smirked. “I dunno, it’s pretty good. . . Be thankful I didn’t tell her everything when she was naked and stomping her foot. I told you she’s sexy when she’s angry.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, and he rubbed at his temple that was still pounding. “I already have a headache, knowing that you and my sister were discussing my issues while she was naked. . .Isn’t helping.”

“You brought up the sex, not me.”

“Yes, well let me retract that statement now. . .quickly,” Ron said as he leaned back at the chair and looked up at the ceiling. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her to go easy on you because were in a whole world of shit and didn’t need her guilting you into anything that would make it worse.”

“Lovely,” Ron said, closing his eyes again. “She’s probably using a Tracking Charm on me as we speak.”

Harry laughed. “Maybe, but you’re Untraceable, right?”

“Not to her. You and Ginny are the only ones that can find me when I’m Untraceable. I told you I altered the spell a bit,” Ron said, as he sighed and continued to rub at his temples. “I guess I ought to redo it to add Hermione, just in case.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that. . .You need to show me how to do that,” Harry said, sounding impressed. “When’d you find the time to alter it? That’s a really advanced spell.”

“Bill figured it out, not me. . . He re-worked the spell when Fleur was pregnant with Chantal,” Ron said, shrugging. “He’s handy to have around when he wants to be.”

“He’s a ruddy genius, that’s what he is.”

“Please don’t tell him that,” Ron said, groaning when he heard the admiration thick in Harry’s voice. “I love my brother, but if his ego gets any bigger I won’t be able to stand him.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, he was strutting around his office this morning. Did you know Fleur is pregnant. . .again?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I heard. Christ, but they’re barking. I can’t believe he’s going to have five kids with a war going on. I bought him a chess set last Christmas and suggested that he find something else to do when he got bored. . .Obviously, he didn’t listen.”

Harry looked at him, arching one eyebrow. “He’s married to a Veela. Would you want to play chess with her in your bed? Besides, last I counted George has six. You should have bought him the chess set.”

“I bought them all chess sets,” Ron said, rolling his eyes again. “I think they’re having a contest to see who can have the most. Fred’s still smarting over George pulling ahead, but Angelina threatened to castrate him if even thought about another one.”

“The twins still giving her a hard time.”

“To say the least. I didn’t think anyone could give Fred and George a run for their money, but Claire and David come damn close and it doesn’t help that their dad owns a joke shop. I pity Hogwarts in a few years, but my mother’s loving it. She just laughs every time Fred shows up at the Burrow all dazed and blurry-eyed.”

Harry shook his head, looking at Ron sympathetically. “You’re mother’s going to kill you when she finds out about Philip, isn’t she?”

Ron groaned again, not needing that little reminder. “Dead, in the ground, buried. Not even my father will be able to save me. You’ll probably have to stop her from digging me up just so she can try and do it again.”

“I think that might be a little extreme,” Harry said, not sounding so confident. “Your mother’s not that bad, and she loves having grandbabies. I’m sure she’ll adore Philip.”

“Oh yeah, she’ll fall all over him. She’d never do anything to her grandchild. It’s me that’s in trouble. Even if she doesn’t kill me, she’ll never forgive me.”

Harry looked at him, smirking a little. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

Ron frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing, forget I said anything. . . I just think you need to tell Ginny. You know she won’t tell your mother until you’re ready.”

Ron sighed. “I know. I just wish you hadn’t said anything. She’s probably going spare as we speak. She hates when she doesn’t know something.”

“Tell me, I was lucky I got out of there without injury.”

“I’ll see about getting a Portkey,” Ron said, feeling resigned.

“You’re in luck,” Harry said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a Portkey. “I had to stop by my office, I grabbed you a multi-user Portkey to Ginny’s.”

Ron took the Portkey, glaring at Harry as he deadpanned, “Thanks, that’s just what I wanted to do today. Hopefully she’s in a good mood after your little visit last night.”

“Yeah, well, she’ll probably be hacked off cause of the house thing,” Harry said, pulling a face. “Sorry.”

Ron continued to glare at Harry as he pointed at him with the Portkey still in his hand. “You’re dealing with Hermione. You owe me and I can already tell you that she won’t want me taking Philip to England, even if it’s just for the day. She’ll probably think I’m trying to kidnap him.”

Harry pulled a face as he picked up Ron’s coffee once more. “Why would she think that?”

“Just trust me, she’ll think it and I can’t deal with her right now. We can’t be in the same room without trying to kill each other.”

Harry smiled over the rim of the coffee cup. “Sounds like foreplay to me. You two were always kinky like that.”

Ron looked over to Philip, seeing that he was completely engrossed in his block building, and then turned back to Harry and tossed a rude hand gesture at him. This did nothing but amuse Harry further. Ginny may not be in a good mood, but Harry was more relaxed and in better spirits than Ron had seen him in ages. He was still smirking at Ron as he said, “I’m telling you, it’s foreplay. . .I haven’t seen you this on edge since we were in school.” Harry set down the cup and rested an elbow on the table as he pointed a finger at Ron. “You can barely keep your hands off her, admit it!”

“Are you barking?” Ron said, turning around to check on Philip once more before he whispered angrily to Harry. “I don’t want shag her. . . I’m trying very hard to keep myself from strangling her.”

“Whatever you say,” Harry said, sounding totally unconvinced. “I’ll deal with her. Though, I think you’re making a bigger deal out of this than needs be. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Ron said and then turned when heard a door open. Hermione came down the hallway, still looking thoroughly hacked off at him. Not wanting to be there when Harry broke it to her that Ron was going to take her son to another country for the day, Ron stood up, turning his back from Hermione as he whispered to Harry once more. “I’m going outside for a fag. Have fun, mate.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Author’s Notes: Heh, aren’t you proud? This is, what, my third chapter in a few weeks. My muse has been downright prolific lately.

As always, thank you to my betas. . .Seakays, Jenorama, and MrsPad00t. You guys are the best, even when I’m dumping chapters on you every few days, you still come through for me. I loff you!

Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed. . .I really appreciate it. I know it’s been ages since I updated, but know that it was the reviews that keep me motivated. While I do have to say that my original work is still my top priority, it’s the wonderful feedback that keeps me coming back to the wonderful world of HP fanfic. I do appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think of the chapters. . .

The good note is that the next chapter shouldn’t be so long in coming. . .I’ve actually been looking forward to writing the next few scenes since I started the story, so I think my muse may force me to work on it :D


	14. Chapter 14

“No, definitely not!” Hermione said, trying but failing to keep the panic out of her voice. “Philip cannot go gallivanting off to another country with someone he just met yesterday. He needs to stay here and get to know Ron a little better.”

Harry arched an eyebrow at her, his arms casually crossed over his chest. “Philip is Ron’s son, Hermione. He needs to tell his family about him and Ginny is as good a place as any for him to start.”

“I’ll go with him,” Hermione said as she took a shaky breath and tried to calm down. The last thing she wanted to do was face another member of the Weasley clan, but her maternal instincts won out. “It’d probably be better that way. Since I’ll be able to explain the situation more clearly to her. I wouldn't put it past Ron to make me out as some slag who tricked him into bed.”

“Umm, Hermione. . .You did trick him.”

“That’s not the point! He just can’t take my baby all the way to England.”

“It’ll only be for a few hours. He’ll be back by dinner,” Harry said, still annoyingly calm. “Philip will probably have a great time. Ginny runs an orphanage. Her house is full of toys and fun things to do. She has a pond out back--”

“Philip can’t swim!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Ron and Ginny won’t let him drown. Besides, it’s the middle of December, it’s not like the kids will be swimming.”

Hermione walked out of the kitchen, seeing that Philip was still playing in the living room and Ron was still on the balcony smoking. She went back to Harry, lowering her voice as she hissed at him. “Did you know that Ron threatened to take Philip from me. How do I know he’s not going to take Philip to the Ministry or something?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, finally looking frustrated. He took a deep breath and turned back to Hermione. “He’s not going to take your son. You know how Ron gets when he’s hacked off. He’ll say anything to win.”

“How do I know that? I don't know Ron anymore,” Hermione said, gesturing to herself wildly. "I have no idea what he's capable of. I just know that he wants to hurt me and I’ll die if he takes my baby!”

“I promise you that he won’t take Philip to the Ministry, Hermione.”

“I said I’d go with him,” Hermione argued, trying to sound logical. “That’s a fair compromise, isn’t it?”

“No, not really,” Harry said, shaking his head and looking at her incredulously. “Telling his sister that he has a child he didn’t know about is going to be very difficult for Ron.”

“That’s why it’d make sense for me to be there. . .So I could explain things better.”

Harry arched a bored eyebrow. “You and Ron aren’t exactly on good terms right now. I think your presence would only stress him out.”

“Well, forgive me if Ron’s stress levels aren’t my top propriety,” Hermione huffed, folding her arms in annoyance. “He’s been a total prat this morning. If he thinks I’m just going to let him take my son--”

“So what, Hermione, Ron can never take Philip? He can only see his son when you’re around?” Harry barked, his eyes flashing in anger behind his glasses. “You’ve kept him to yourself for the past two years, making me look like an arsehole in the process, I might add. You owe me this!”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Harry was her only real friend, and knowing he was against her on this hurt her feelings more than she wanted to admit. She looked up at him with watery eyes. “I don’t want Philip to go.”

Harry sighed and reached out, pulling Hermione into the hug that she so desperately needed. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. She sniffed and tried to hold back the tears that had been her constant companion since Ron had shown up in her flat yesterday. Harry leaned down, placing a kiss on top of her head. “He’ll have him back by dinner, I promise.”

“He’s been so cruel,” Hermione mumbled against his shirt. “I guess I deserve it, but I just don’t think I can take it. Not from him, Harry. Not from Ron”

Harry rubbed her back as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. “He’s just angry, Hermione.”

Tears rolled down her face despite her best attempts to stop them. “He hates me.”

“No, Love, he doesn’t,” Harry whispered as he continued to rub her back soothingly. “He just needs some time to cool off. He’ll come around.”

Hermione nodded, her cheek still resting against Harry’s chest as she wiped at her eyes. She sighed, wrapping her arm back around him, unwilling to give up the hug when she was so miserable. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Harry and Hermione pulled apart, and Hermione wiped once more at her tear-stained face. She looked up at Ron, who was standing at the entrance to her kitchen, his arms folded over his chest as he glared at the both of them. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll just--” she started, feeling a little flustered as Ron continued to stare at her, looking completely unapproachable. “I’ll get Philip ready for you.”

He nodded, and Hermione brushed quickly past him and into the living room. “Come, baby,” she said, sweeping Philip up and holding him tightly to her, finding that she still needed comfort. “Your dad’s going to take you out today. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Out!” Philip returned her hug with vigor as his tiny arms wrapped around her neck, squeezing her tightly. “Mummy go out too!”

“No,” she said as she took Philip into his room, and sat down on the rocking chair in the corner, needing a few more minutes to compose herself. “Mummy needs to work today.”

“Uncle Harry go out!”

“No,” Hermione sighed as she started rocking him, letting her fingers trail through his thick red hair that fell easily back into place and she had to be thankful that he’d gotten Ron’s manageability along with his color. “He’s got to work too. Just Dad today.”

“Awww,” Philip said as his head rested against her chest. “I want you to go out with Dad.”

Hermione gave a broken laugh. “Not very likely, I’m afraid.”

Philip pulled on her hair, twisting the curly stands between his small fingers the way he always did when he was sleepy or needed comfort. Knowing there wasn’t a huge rush, Hermione just sat with him for a while as Philip continued to twist her hair, which always left the worst tangles, but she didn’t care.

“You like your dad, don’t you?” Hermione asked, knowing that Philip didn’t really understand what it meant to call Ron his father, not yet, anyway. “He’s nice.”

“Red,” Philip said, looking up at her and giving a little smile. “Like me.”

“True, he does have lovely red hair,” she said, once again running her fingers through Philip’s hair. “Just like you.”

“He plays blocks,” Philip said as an afterthought. “He shares pancakes.”

“Well, it doesn’t get much better than that, does it?” Hermione asked, giving a little laugh as she held Philip away from her. “Do you want to get ready to go? Uncle Harry says there are kids where your dad’s taking you. If you’re nice, maybe they’ll share their toys with you.”

“Toys?” he asked, his eyes brightening.

“And kids,” Hermione said, smiling back at him. “It should be fun. You can tell me about it when you get back.”

“Kay,” he said, squirming until Hermione set him down. “Go out!”

Hermione got Philip ready, making sure to dress him warmly because it was sure to be cold in England. Having had time to think about it, Philip obviously decided that going out with Ron would be fun because he took off down the hallway before Hermione had a chance to tie his shoes.

“Harry!” Hermione called as she jumped up and went after Philip who’d already barreled into the living room. “Catch him. His shoes aren’t tied.”

“Oy!” Harry dashed after him, catching Philip with lightning fast reflexes. Philip squealed and laughed as Harry swept him up. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“Out!” Philip said, still laughing and squirming in Harry’s arms.

“Not without your shoes tied, you aren’t,” Harry said, as he sat down on one of the chairs at the dining room table, settling Philip on his lap and tried to hold him still long enough to tie his shoes. “Seekers always keep their shoes tied.”

“Snitch!” Philip said, finally holding out his foot so that Harry could tie his shoelaces easier.

“Can’t catch the Snitch if you’re tripping over your feet, can you?” Harry reached for the other foot. “You wouldn’t be able to even get on your broom. . .You’d just fall right down.”

Philip was still giggling as Hermione turned and walked towards Ron, who was watching the scene from the couch in the living room, his expression unreadable as he glanced up at her. She handed him Philip’s hat. “If it’s really cold make sure he wears this. Most of your body’s heat escapes through your head.”

Ron took the hat, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And, he’ll probably be hungry again in a few hours,” she said, looking over her shoulder to where Harry still sat with Philip. “He has a pretty big appetite. He’s always hungry.”

“Ginny has plenty of food,” Ron said dryly. “I’m sure we’ll manage feeding him.”

Hermione bit her lip for a second as she tried to will away her nerves that were still on edge at the thought of Ron taking him. “And don’t let him get into anything over there. He’s very curious and he hasn’t been in too many magical households. There are a lot of things he doesn’t know about.”

Ron sighed as he stood up and looked down at her. “He’ll be fine. Ginny and I are more than capable of keeping him fed and alive for one afternoon. You can stop worrying.”

Hermione nodded and found herself unable to hold back her fears. “You are going to bring him back, right?”

“Yes, Hermione, I’m bringing him back,” Ron said slowly, arching an eyebrow at her. “If not, I’m sure your mate Harry will be able to hunt me down and bring him back to you.”

“That’s not funny,” Hermione snapped.

Ron rolled his eyes, and then brushed past her as he walked into the dining room. “Hey, mate, you ready to go?”

“Go out!” Philip said and then turned to Harry. “Uncle Harry go out!”

Harry winced. “Not today, but say hi to your Aunt Ginny for me.”

“Aunt Ginny,” Philip said as he jumped off Harry’s lap and ran towards Hermione. She picked him up, needing one more hug. “Mummy go out!”

“I’m working today,” she reminded him as she held him close and leaned down to place a kiss on his head. “But, have lots of fun for both of us.”

“Has he ever traveled using a Portkey?” Ron asked as he reached into his pocket and took out his Portkey.

Hermione pulled a face as she set Philip down. “Not that he remembers. We use the Floo to get him to school.”

“Portkey travel is better than Floo travel,” Harry said as he stood up from his seat in the dining room. “It’s not like you have to worry about falling out at the wrong grate.”

“He should be fine,” Hermione said as she leaned down to talk to Philip who was bouncing in place, obviously very excited. “Your dad’s going to use a Portkey.” Hermione looked up at Ron, who still had the Portkey in his hand. “Can I borrow that for a second?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, handing it to her. “Just don’t let him hold it. If it breaks, he’ll activate it.”

Hermione gave Ron a strained smile. “Yes, I know,” she said and then turned back to Philip, holding up the Portkey. “See, it’s going to take you and Daddy out so you can go play with the kids.”

“Like the Floo!” Philip reached for the Portkey, but Hermione held it out of reach as he tried to jump for it. “Like school!”

“Sort of,” Hermione said patiently. “It’s a little different, but you’ll get there real fast. Just hold onto your Dad and you’ll be fine.”

Philip nodded, still trying to reach for the Portkey in Hermione’s hand. “I wanna see.”

“You heard what your dad said,” Hermione said sternly. “I expect you to behave while you are out with him today. No arguing.”

Philip stopped trying to reach for the Portkey, flashing his best innocent look, which Hermione took with a grain of salt. He was usually very well behaved, but he did have his moments. “I won’t, Mummy. I’m good,” Philip said as he blinked at Hermione.

Harry snorted under his breath, and Hermione tried to hide a smile when she looked up and met Harry’s eyes. “I know you are, but I want you to listen to your dad and Aunt Ginny. I’ll be very upset if I hear that you misbehaved.”

“I’ll be good,” Philip said solemnly. “I promise.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she stood up and handed the Portkey back to Ron. “He has been known to have temper tantrums if he gets upset. He’s very stubborn.”

“In other words, he inherited more than your hair,” Harry said, mirth laced thickly in his voice.

Hermione didn’t miss Ron smoothly flashing a rude hand gesture at Harry before running his hand through his hair. “Is that it?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, eyeing Ron’s jumper. “Aren’t you going to wear a jacket? I’m sure it’s going to be cold.”

Ron smirked, arching that one annoying eyebrow at her again. “I think I’ll be okay. If it’s too cold I can always wear a hat to stop the heat from leaking out of my head.”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s up to you if you want to freeze.”

“Okay,” Harry said, breaking up the tension as he clapped his hands together and leaned down to pick up Philip. “You better go before it gets too late.”

Ron took Philip from Harry, easily shifting his weight until he held him with one hand while the other still gripped the Portkey. “Wait up if you can,” Ron said to Harry. “I want to know what happens with those Death Eaters in custody. Bring me the transcripts from your questioning today.”

Harry nodded. “I will,” he said and then smiled. “Have fun today.”

Ron pulled a horrified face. “Oh yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a real blast.”

Ron warned Philip, and then broke the Portkey. Both of them disappeared out of her living room almost instantly, and Hermione stared into the empty space thinking that she wasn’t going to get an ounce of work done today.

Harry reached out to her, his hand wrapping around her waist as he pulled her to him. “I’m proud of you,” he said as Hermione let her head fall sideways so that it rested on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” she sighed, getting the impression that they were talking about something much deeper than Ron and Philip’s outing. “Because I feel like I’m dying.”

~*~

Ron stared at the front door to Ginny’s house with trepidation. Inside he could hear the squeals and laughter of children playing and basically wrecking havoc. He really should have stalled and come in the evening when everyone would be mellower, but the idea of hanging around Hermione’s flat all day while her and Harry hung on each other was more than he could stomach. It didn’t matter that he knew they were just friends, it still bothered him to know how close they’d become. Still, the last thing he wanted was a full on drama in front of Ginny’s kids. His sister may be good at keeping secrets, but the kids couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it. He probably should have waited.

Ron looked to Philip, who was also staring at the door, his eyes wide as he turned his ear to listen to the kids inside. He smiled after a second, his eyebrows rising in curiosity. “School?”

Ron returned the smile, knowing Philip wouldn’t know how strained it was. “Something like that.”

Philip started getting antsy just standing there and Ron finally gathered his courage. He reached up and knocked loudly on the door, finding a small amount of amusement when Philip mimicked him, his knocks barely audible because of his small hand. He smiled at Ron once more while they both waited. “Play!” he said, sounding very excited which was a good thing since he’d looked a bit shaken after the Portkey dumped them in Ginny’s garden.

“Definitely play,” Ron agreed, shaking his head and hoping that Ginny kids weren’t too rowdy today.

They could be a handful. Though just Ginny’s kids was better than something horrid like the Burrow on Christmas, which was always such a madhouse. His brothers usually gave up trying to keep their kids in line when they were high on sweets and presents and the excitement of seeing their cousins again. It was a wild free-for-all, and it usually had Ron looking for alcohol after a few minutes.

The door opened after a few seconds as a small face peeked out through the crack, looking up at Ron with wide eyes before the door was opened further and a loud screech of excitement made Philip back up and stand behind Ron. “Uncle Ron!”

“Hey Marley,” Ron said, catching her just as she jumped into his arms, giving him a fierce hug. “What’d I tell you about opening the door to strangers?”

Marley pulled away, smiling at him. “You’re not a stranger!”

“I could have been,” he said, setting Marley down and looking at her sternly. “Only Miss Ginny opens the door.”

“She’s talking with Uncle Bill,” Marley said, her voice drifting off as she looked around Ron and stared at Philip. “Oh!” she said in delight. “He’s a wee one. We haven’t had a baby in forever! Can I hold him?” she held out her hand to Philip, who stepped from behind Ron’s legs.

“He’s not staying,” Ron warned, feeling a bit hesitant, though Philip didn’t seem to mind when Marley took his hand, and then attempted to lift him up, which was quite a feat since Marley was small for nine and Philip was rather big for two. “Love, be careful. Maybe he ought to stay with me,” Ron said, though neither child noticed as Marley hefted him up and carried him inside, and Ron just threw his hands up in defeat. “Don’t let the kids get too rough with him, Marley. I’m serious. His mum will throw a fit if something happens to him.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, hobbling under Philip’s weight as she carried him into the living room. “Look at what Uncle Ron brought!”

Ron took off Philip’s coat as the other kids came running into the room. The girls instantly gravitated towards Philip, while Marcus and Darwin stopped dead in their tracks. Both boys, who for the time being were horribly outnumbered in Ginny’s house, looked appalled as the girls squealed over Philip, running their fingers through his red hair and taking turns hugging him.

“Did you bring something else besides a baby?” Darwin asked, pulling a face as he looked at Philip.

“Nope, that’s it for today.” He tossed Philip’s coat onto the couch and then reached out to ruffle Darwin’s hair, which annoyed the ten year-old greatly as he instantly reached up to flatten his hair. Ron could see the unspoken question in his eyes, and he rolled his eyes. “He’s not staying, Dar.”

Darwin would have said something if Ginny hadn’t walked into the room, wearing red robes and glaring at him as she put her hands on her hips. “Do you know what your best mate did?”

Ron held up his hands in defeat. “I had nothing to do with it. . .That’s between you and him.”

Ginny walked over to him, speaking in harsh tones under her breath as the boys went back into the other room. “I’ve had my head in the Floo for an hour talking with Bill. He let that arsehole buy my house! I’m through with him, Ron. . . I swear I am. I know he’s our brother but I officially denounce him. He’s always doing shit like this. He and Harry conspire against me. He has no family loyalty.”

“You’re mad at Bill?” Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “Harry’s the one who bought it.”

“Bill helped him and he knew it’d hack me off. Do you know that bastard has been laughing at me . . .laughing! I told him it’s a good thing he knocked up Fleur while he had the chance, because the next time I see him I’m going to hex his bits off.”

“Well, let me reiterate again that I had nothing to do with it. . .I just found out about it,” Ron said, casting a concerned look over at Philip out of the corner of his eye, seeing that the girls were all still fussing over him. “You should have told me you were late on the house payments. I could have given you the money and you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Harry told you that? Gah, he’s such a prat,” Ginny said, looking aghast.

Ron couldn’t help but smirk. “I noticed you’re not threatening to hex his bits off though.”

“Shut up, Ron,” Ginny said, rubbing her forehead and squeezing her eyes shut. “My day has been total shit. The kids are wild. The last thing I needed to deal with is all this bunk. Bill flat out refused to help me get the deed transferred back to Gringotts. He’s such an arsehole. I can’t believe we’re related to him. He made me a key to Harry’s vault too. If he tells Mum, forget his bits, I’m going to kill him.”

“I’m sure he won’t tell Mum.”

“Oh, he probably will. He’ll drop the bomb at Christmas or something horrid just to embarrass me.” Ginny was still rubbing at her temple, but then she opened her eyes and shook her head dismissively. “Anyway, forget my problems. What’re you doing here? I thought you were on a mission.” Almost as an afterthought, she reached up and hugged him, placing a kiss on his cheek and then pulling back to stare at his face as she still gripped his shoulders. “You look horrid. Harry said that you’ve been having problems. I’ve been worrying about you all day. If I wasn’t so distracted with this stupid house thing I would have owled you. Tell me what’s been going on.”

Unconsciously, Ron cast a glance at Philip who was still playing with the girls in the middle of the living room. He was sitting on Ginny’s large oriental rug, looking a bit overwhelmed by all the toys and attention the girls were lavishing over him. Ginny followed his gaze and gasped, putting her hand to her mouth and then she turned back to Ron, giving him a beaming smile as she lowered her hand. “You brought me a baby!”

“No, Gin, wait,” Ron said, feeling sick as Ginny dashed over and scooped Philip up.

She held him out at arms length, admiring him as Philip smiled at her, though he looked a little confused by Ginny’s sudden attention. “Look at his red hair!” Ginny said, pulling him close and hugging him as she ran her fingers lovingly through Philip’s thick copper hair. “Everyone will think he’s mine.”

Ron felt himself go pale, and he knew his face showed his horror, but Ginny didn’t seem to notice as she continued to admire Philip. “N-no, Gin,” Ron said, choking on the words and finally getting Ginny’s attention as she turned to look at him. Philip was still cradled in her arms as she stared at him curiously. Ron swallowed hard. “N-not yours. . .Mine.”

Ginny gave him a confused look. “What?”

“He’s mine,” Ron said, still choking on the words and finding that this was the first time in a long time that he was uncomfortable talking with his sister.

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Ron reached out to touch Philip’s hair like Ginny had, looking at Philip as he sighed. “He’s my son, Gin.”

Ginny’s face instantly drained of color, and she turned to look at Philip, studying him intently. “You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m not kidding,” Ron said, and there was some insane side of him that almost wanted to laugh. He hadn’t seen Ginny this speechless since the day Harry first showed up at the Burrow when she was eleven. “He’s really my son.”

Ginny ran a finger down his cheek, and he smiled at her. Ginny gasped, her eyes growing wide as she stared at her nephew. “Right, okay,” Ginny said, shaking her head in shock as she set Philip down. “Girls, can you watch the baby for a bit? Uncle Ron and I need to talk.”

“Sure, Miss Ginny,” Marley said, running up and grabbing Philip’s hand to pull him towards back to the rug. “We’ll take good care of him.”

“Don’t let him put anything in his mouth,” Ginny said sternly, and then she turned to look at Ron. “Does he talk?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding. “But he goes back and forth between French and English. I think most of the kids he plays with speak French so he might get confused.”

Ginny pulled a face, looking stunned. “He speaks French?”

“Almost fluently, I think, but what would I know?” Ron shrugged.

Ginny spoke in false sweetness, her voice biting. “Well, won’t Fleur be relieved. . .Finally her children will have a cousin that might actually be worth socializing with.”

“Not nice, Gin,” Ron said, giving a half laugh in spite of everything. Fleur wasn’t one of Ginny’s favorite people, and obviously this mess with Bill only compounded her dislike of her sister-in-law. “She’s not that bad.”

“Anyway,” Ginny said as she turned back to Marley and the other girls. “I want you to take good care of him while Uncle Ron and I talk.”

“We will!” said Susan, who flashed a gap toothed smile.

“Good,” Ginny nodded and then turned to Philip. “I’m going to go talk with your dad for a second, okay?”

Philip nodded, though the toys and children had already distracted him. “Um, kay,” he said when Ginny waited patiently for an answer. “Play.”

“You play,” Ginny whispered, putting her hand on his head for a second before she looked at Marley again. “Come get us if you have any problems.”

“We will, I promise,” Marley said, turning back to Philip and handing him a very well played with doll. “Isn’t he cute, Miss Ginny?”

“Very cute,” Ginny agreed, still staring at Philip as he took the doll Marley handed him, looked at it for a second and then tossed it aside to play with a toy dragon that was hobbling around on the rug. She straightened up, and grabbed Ron’s hand. “We’ll be in my office.”

Ginny’s grip on his hand was like a vice as she pulled him into her office. She shut the door and then turned to Ron as he sat down in the seat facing her desk. “Talk,” she said, and then waved her hand, obviously very flustered. “Wait, wait.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a pack of Muggle cigarettes. She started looking for her wand, shuffling papers on her desk with shaking hands and rather than point out that her wand was in the pocket of her robes, Ron leaned forward, uttering a spell and Ginny leaned down to light it off his wand. She took a deep puff of the cigarette and shakily blew out the smoke. “Okay, now talk.”

“What’re you doing smoking, Gin?” Ron said, eyeing the pack of cigarettes on her desk as he pulled out his own tin of tobacco and started rolling a cigarette of his own.

“Relax, they’re Harry’s,” Ginny said, taking another puff of her cigarette. “He left them on my nightstand this morning. Bill had me so aggravated that I stole one.”

“Two,” Ron said, eyeing the cigarette in her hand as he licked the paper of the one in his hand. “Don’t get hooked. Mum will blame me for it and that’s the last thing I need.”

Ginny laughed, sounding a little hysterical. “Yeah, no kidding,” she said taking yet another puff of her cigarette as she dug into her desk drawer, pulled out an ashtray and dropped it on the desk. She flopped into her chair and stared at Ron. “Okay, now tell me how it is that baby out there is your son.”

“You want the technicalities of it,” Ron said dryly, taking a drag off his own cigarette as he looked across the desk at Ginny. “Funny, after talking with Harry this morning I got the impression that you had a pretty strong grasp on the whole thing.”

“Cute, Ron,” Ginny said sarcastically and then leaned forward on the deck, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Who’s his mother?”

“Hermione.”

Ginny coughed on her cigarette, and then looked at Ron, her face a mask of incredulousness. “Hermione Granger?”

“Do we know another Hermione?”

Ginny shook her head, leaning back against the chair as she stared at the ceiling and took another lazy draw off her cigarette. She closed her eyes, before she whispered almost to herself. “Oh, Harry is such a dead man.”

“He says he didn’t know Philip was mine,” Ron said, not knowing why he was defending Harry. “Hermione told him that she fancied redheaded blokes.”

Ginny gave a broken laugh, shaking her head again. “I’m shagging an idiot. Brilliant. I don’t know why I even bother with men at all,” she said, leaning forward and tapping her cigarette on the ashtray. “The whole lot of them have the perceptive abilities of a garden gnomes. I’m swearing them off, Ron. From now on, it’s strictly women or no sex at all.”

“Great,” Ron said, pulling a face. “Maybe you can let Mum know about your new lesbian status before she finds out about Philip. She’ll be too busy killing you to notice me.”

She laughed again, rolling her eyes. “Right, as if that’ll stop her. . .You are so dead. Not even Dad will be able to save you.” Ginny looked totally bewildered, staring at him as a sad smile curved at the corner of her lips. “Ron, when did you sleep with Hermione?”

“He’s two and half,” Ron sighed, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “You do the math.”

“She’s the reason you stopped dating,” Ginny said sadly. “Isn’t she?”

Ron leaned back against the chair, took another long drag off his cigarette and sighed. “Yeah. Talk about being an idiot. Three fucking years of celibacy for a woman who only wanted me from my baby making abilities.”

“How many times were you with her?” Ginny asked quietly, her voice still sad and sympatric.

“Just once,” Ron said as he took another long drag off his cigarette. Unwillingly memories from that night flashed back at him. “I was on a mission that went bad. I ended up at Harry’s cabin and she was there. I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

“You got it on the first shot,” Ginny said, smirking a little. “Impressive.”

Ron arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, just an observation,” Ginny said, shaking her head again. “God, remind me to refill my birth control potion, will you? Our family reproduces like rabbits.”

“I thought you were swearing off men?”

“If you lot are anything to go by I may not need one at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up one day pregnant by Immaculate Conception,” Ginny said as she put her cigarette out in the ashtray. “Ron, why didn’t you use any protection? I know you’re not daft like the rest of our brothers. You know what contraception means.”

He groaned. “She told me she had it taken care of.”

“Well, she didn’t lie. . . She has taken care of the baby. It’s not like she showed up on your doorstep and asked you to support her.”

Ron gaped at his sister. “Christ, are all women conniving?”

“Most of us. . .On our good days.” She smiled, shrugging a little. “Was she sexually active before you met up with her?”

“No,” he said, and then thought on it a bit. “Well, she’d been with me once, but that was back in our seventh year.”

“Then why would she be on Birth Control Potion?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it all that hard, Ginny,” Ron barked at her. “I was kind of distracted.”

“Obviously,” she said dryly. “I can’t believe you fell for that, Ron. That’s pretty bad.”

“Remind me why I’m here again?” Ron ran a hand roughly through his hair, feeling very annoyed. “All men are daft. We only think with our dicks. I get it. I already feel like an idiot. I don’t need you helping things along.”

Ginny sighed. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ron snapped, his voice still raw with aggravation.

Ginny sat there quietly while Ron rolled himself another cigarette. His hands shook and he hated that Ginny would probably notice. He wasn’t surprised when her voice suddenly took on a soft, reassuring tone. “He is a beautiful baby, Ron.”

“Yeah,” he said, still rolling his cigarette and not looking at his sister.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced up then, licking the paper on his cigarette and smoothing it out. “For what?”

Ginny shrugged, looking guilty. “I’m being awful to you.”

“I probably deserve it,” Ron said and then he set his cigarette down and ran a hand though his hair once more. “I should have written to her. I should have thought about it more. It was so obvious what she wanted now that I think back on it. God, how am I ever going to make this up to him? I missed the first two and half years of his life. I’m the world’s worst father.”

“No, Love, you’re not,” Ginny said, coming around the desk and kneeling down in front of Ron. She pulled him to her and Ron couldn’t help but rest his forehead on her shoulder as he took a shuddering breath and tried to will away the tears that were threatening. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t even convince Hermione to marry me,” he choked. “He won’t even have my name. He’s going to hate me.”

“No, Ron, he won’t hate you,” Ginny said, rubbing his back in the way their mum used to when they were younger. “You’re going to be a brilliant father. He’s a baby, he won’t even remember that you weren’t there.”

“But I’ll remember. I missed it all, Gin. I missed him being born, and him taking his first steps. . .His first words,” Ron choked back a sob, putting a hand over his eyes to cover the tears as he continued to let his forehead rest on her shoulder. “God, maybe we should just tell Mum now, because I honestly feel like I’m dying. I think it’s more than I can take. It wouldn’t be so hard if it weren’t Hermione.”

“I know,” Ginny whispered, still rubbing his back. “I know how much you loved her.”

“Why would she do this to me?” he rasped, feeling too broken to even care that he was crying. “I’m not perfect, but I would have tried to be a good dad. She didn’t even give me a chance.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry,” Ginny said and Ron could hear the tears in her voice. “We’ll fix it, okay? I’ll talk to Hermione for you.”

“No, she hates me. She doesn’t even need me,” Ron rasped, feeling like his heart was literally shattering inside his chest. “Harry says that she’s got tons of money. What does she need me for?”

“Hey, there are more important things than money,” Ginny said, lifting his chin and looking at him with her own glossy eyes as tears rolled down her face. “She needs you to be a father to her son. What’s money next to that?”

Ron shook his head, wiping at his eyes as he let his fall heavily back on Ginny’s shoulder. “She’s got Harry for that. God, Philip adores him too. . .When he’s around, it’s like I don’t exist to either of them.”

“He’s such a stupid prat,” Ginny rasped as she started rubbing his back again. “He should have told us Hermione had a baby. Just wait until I get my hands on that man.”

The two of them sat there for a long time crying. Ron hated coming apart, but the pain was too much, the heartbreak, the desperation he felt at just wanting to know his son. The obstacles in front of him seemed nearly impossible to overcome and it didn’t help that he had loved Hermione for longer than he could remember. That’s what made it hurt so fucking bad. If only he could go back in time and stay with Hermione until she woke up that morning, maybe she wouldn’t have been so angry with him, angry enough to keep his own child from him.

He’d never been so lost.

“How do I fix this, Gin?” he asked, hoping his sister had the answers because he sure as hell didn’t.

She sniffed, still rubbing his back. “We’ll just take it one step at a time. You decide what it is that you want and I’ll be there to help you. Do you know what you want?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just want to know my son,” he said, as he took a few cooling breaths and sat up again. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Hermione said something about split custody. Do you know what that is?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, what is it?”

“Something where I’d have Philip some of the time,” he said, as he reached for his cigarette on the desk and shakily lit it. “On break and on some weekends.”

“You aren’t going to agree to that, are you?” Ginny said, laughing incredulously as she wiped at her own tears. “That’s not fair. You should be able to see him anytime you want.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He shrugged as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “She won’t marry me. She didn’t even like me enough to tell me I had a son, you think she’s going let me be her husband?”

“You’re going to give up that easily? You’re just going to let them win?” Ginny snapped, as she leaned in and poked at his chest. “Don’t forget, Ron, you’re a Gryffindor and a Weasley. That means you’re not just tough--you’re also stubborn as hell. No one gets the better of us without a fight and that baby out there is precious. He’s worth fighting for.” Ginny leaned in, tilting her head to look at him when he wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she smiled. “You’re going to have convince Hermione to marry your big arse. That’s all there is to it.”

“And how do you propose I do that? Did you miss the part where I said she hated me?”

“Easy,” Ginny said smugly as she stole his cigarette from him, took a puff off it and blew the smoke out as she smiled at him slyly. “You’ll just have to seduce her.”

Ron gave a broken laugh. “Right. I’m really up to that right now.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re telling me you aren’t attracted to her?” Ron was silent, avoiding her eyes as he took his cigarette back. He could hear the smile in Ginny’s voice when she spoke again. “I thought so. . .Look, I know you’re a bit rusty, but trust me, it’s like flying. You don’t forget things like that. Lust is enough to sustain plenty of marriages. Look at Bill and Fleur.”

“Actually, Gin, I think Bill really loves Fleur.”

“Pardon me,” Ginny said, and then made a motion to stick her finger down her throat, which made Ron laugh despite everything. She flipped her hair back and arched an eyebrow as her voice dripped with malice. “If they really love each other then I’m a Hippogriff. It’s lust, that’s all it is and you and Hermione have the same thing. Sparks fly when you two are in the same room. You’ve been like that since you were children.”

Ron shook his head “I don’t think I can do it. I can’t just forget everything and fall in bed with her, Ginny. . .I just can’t. It’s not in me.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re a man and you haven’t had sex in three years. Trust me, it’s in you.” She brushed at his jumper, resting her hand on his chest as she sighed in defeat. “Look, as much as it pains me to admit it. . .You’re a fairly attractive wizard. You can be reasonably charming when you want to be and we both know you’re cunning. You aren’t a chess whiz and one of the best Aurors in Harry’s entire division for nothing. There’s a reason you have a whole wall full of medals and awards. Use what you have, Ron. Besides, if you don’t get shagged soon I may have to stop telling people we’re related. This whole celibacy thing is starting to get out of hand.”

Ron rubbed at his eyes that still stung. “Bloody waste of time too. . . I don’t know what I was saving myself for anyway.”

“I do, but you probably don’t want to hear it,” Ginny said, patting his chest reassuringly once more before she stood and wiped at her face again. She turned to look at herself in the mirror hanging over the fireplace. She ran her fingers through her hair, and then pulled a face at her reflection. “God, I’m a horrid mess, but it doesn’t matter. Why don’t we go out and you can properly introduce me to my nephew.”

“Okay, just give me a few minutes. I don’t want the kids to see me upset.”

“He really speaks French?” Ginny asked as she sat back in the chair and waited for Ron to pull himself together.

“Yeah,” Ron said, unable to hide his smile as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray. “He’s brilliant, actually. He’s got lots of energy too. He sort of reminds me of Fred and George when they were little. He smiles a lot.”

“You used to smile a lot when you were little,” Ginny said softly.

“Did I?” Ron ran both hands through his hair and then laced his fingers behind his head and put his feet up on Ginny’s desk. “I don’t remember.”

“I do.” Ginny smiled at him. “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell Mum and everyone else?”

“No,” Ron said, closing his eyes for second in misery. “I guess I’ll have to get it over with before Christmas, because I’d like to take Philip to the Burrow. I think he’d enjoy the madness.”

“You might want to marry Hermione before you subject her to Christmas at the Burrow. She may not agree otherwise.” Ginny pulled a face at the mention of holidays at the Burrow. “Are you still going to come here on Christmas Eve? The kids will be so disappointed if you don’t make it this year and I need your help with the whole Father Christmas bit. You know I’m horrid at putting together all those toys. You can bring the baby and Hermione.”

“I’ll have to talk to Hermione,” Ron said, and then rubbed his eyes again. “God, she really had no clue what she was getting herself into. You know, she lives like a Muggle, with eketricty and everything.”

“How interesting. Dad will be in heaven.”

Ron put his feet down, and looked at Ginny. “Yeah, and she has this really wicked cabinet that keeps food cold. Damn, I can’t remember what she called it, but she says it’ll keep the food from spoiling for weeks without casting a Preservation Charm on it.”

“Handy.”

“I know, and the top part of it actually freezes the food. You can make ice too,” he said, pointing at Ginny. “I think it’d save you a lot of time. Think about it. Everything is right there, no charms to cast. You just open the cabinet and it’s already done.”

“But, I don’t have electricity. I wouldn’t even know how to get it installed,” Ginny argued.

“No, I think I can make it using Cooling and Freezing Charms,” he said, thinking about it for a second. “It’s made from a strange material though. I’d have to find an old Muggle one for it to work right. I bet Harry could help me find one.”

“Is it large? I don’t know if I could fit a whole cabinet in the kitchen.”

“Sure you could. We’d just pull out those cabinets in the corner by the sink. I could make it fit. We’d just have to rearrange everything a little.”

“You want to tear apart my kitchen two weeks before Christmas?” Ginny said dryly, arching an eyebrow him. “Ron, you do something like this every time you get stressed out.”

Ron rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow, still thinking about how he was going to make the cooling cabinet. “Humour me, will you? I really think you’d like it and if it works, I’ll make Mum and Dad one for Christmas. Dad’ll love it.”

Ginny threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine, build it.”

“The storage is neat. It’s got all these clear drawers inside it so you can see the food,” Ron said, wishing that he could bring Ginny over to Hermione’s flat and show her. “It’s really amazing how well Muggles make do without magic.”

“You’re turning into Dad, you do realize that.”

Ron shrugged. “There’s worse people to turn out like.”

“I suppose,” Ginny said, staring off to space, looking deep in thought. “How’d you find out about the baby, anyway?”

“Would you believe that Malfoy and a couple of his cronies attacked Hermione and Philip at her flat?”

Ginny gasped, turning back to Ron. “You’re kidding? They weren’t hurt, were they?”

Ron shook his head. “Hermione had a bruise on her cheek, but that’s it. I’d love to get my hands on that little ferret. Getting him would be awesome.”

“Bad idea. . . Malfoy’s too close to home for you, especially if he’s after Hermione. Have Harry put someone else on him.”

“Since we lost McDougall the whole reconnaissance division’s gone to hell. I’m the only left who’s good enough; the other lads are still green. Of course, I’d have to use about a million glamours to pull it off, but it’d be worth it to bring him in.”

“You are good at glamours,” Ginny said grudgingly. “But, still. . .I have a bad feeling about it. I think going after Malfoy would be a mistake. You need to focus on this issue with Hermione and the baby right now.”

Ron shrugged. “I have time to think about it,” he said, and then rubbed a hand over his face as he stood up. He stared at himself in the mirror, wincing at the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. Unable to think of a different charm, he cast a Hangover Charm on himself and was surprised to see that it helped considerably. He looked almost normal. “It worked!”

“What’d you use?” Ginny asked, having been busy straightening her desk and casting Deodorizing Charms.

Ron ran a hand through his red hair as he stared at himself in the mirror. “Hangover Charm.”

“I would have never thought of that,” Ginny said, sounding impressed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“Hey,” Ron said, turning back to Ginny just as she cast her own Hangover Charm. “What’s up with Darwin? He seemed upset.”

Ginny smiled sadly. “His birthday’s in January.”

“Right!” Ron said, wanting to smack his forehead. “He’s not upset about going to Hogwarts next year, is he? He should be excited.”

“No, he’s just worried about us finding him a different home once he starts school,” Ginny said, sounding heartsick. “I don’t think he wants to leave.”

“Do you have anyone interested?”

“Actually, I do.” Ginny pushed Ron aside to study her reflection once again. “But, I’ve been putting them off. I don’t want to push him out if he’s not ready.”

“He’s been here for five years,” Ron said, feeling his heart lurch at the thought of Darwin being adopted. “This is all he knows now. . .He’ll never be ready.”

Ginny sighed. “I know. . .But I won’t be able to take in younger children if he’s still in my custody. Even if he’s at Hogwarts, legally it doesn’t matter that he’ll be gone most of the time. We already made the exception for Harry and Hannah; I can’t do it for him too. Soon they’ll all be at Hogwarts and I’ll have an empty house when there are so many children that need homes.”

“We’ll just have to add on,” Ron said, thinking about logistics of it. It really was a huge project, and it couldn’t have come at a more inappropriate time, but he could probably pull it off. He didn’t want Ginny to give up Darwin if he didn’t want to go and there were some advantages to having a large family. “I could get Charlie and the twins to help me.”

“Bill owes me,” Ginny said, looking at him sternly. “He can help too.”

Ron winced. “Bill’s hopeless with construction. He’s more hindrance than help. Let him and Harry help you with the paperwork you need pushed through the Ministry. I bet we could add on another three or four bedrooms, big ones so that the kids could share.”

“Would you build up or out?”

“Out,” Ron said, laughing. “If we build up, this place will look like the Burrow. I love Dad, but construction isn’t his strong suit either.”

Ginny gave him a beaming smile. “Would you really be able to add on?”

“Sure,” Ron said, smiling back at her. “Now that you don’t have house payments, you could use the extra money to buy materials.” Ginny’s face fell and she bit at her lip, looking hesitant. “I’ll throw in some of my own money,” he added, hating that she was obviously struggling. “And the twins are loaded, they’ll help pay for it. I think they can buy a lot of the stuff at cost from some of their suppliers. It won’t be that expensive, and the labor’s cheap enough. Food and ale at the most.”

Ginny launched herself at him, crushing him in a fierce hug. “You’re the best,” she said exuberantly, kissing his cheek. “I’ll talk to Hermione for you. . .Woman to woman. I’ll make her see reason, you’ll see.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron said, setting Ginny away from him. He rubbed the back of his neck that was burning in embarrassment. “I’m a big lad. I’ll handle it. . . Somehow.”

“Come on, Dad,” Ginny said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door. “I’m dying to get to know my new nephew.” Ron followed her into the living room, both of them stopping to watch Philip as he played on the rug with the girls. As she stared, her eyes softened and look of intense longing crossed her face, a look Ron had seen every time Ginny held one of their brothers’ children. Now more comfortable, Philip was talking animatedly, his broken English drifting across the room. Ginny put her hand on her chest, giving a small sigh. “I know the situation is horrid, but you’re so lucky. He’s just precious. Sometimes I wish I could have a baby of my own.”

“I know, Gin.”

When Ginny turned back to him her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “You have to promise to bring him over all the time.”

He snorted, thinking once again that Hermione really had no clue what she’d got herself into when she chose a Weasley to father her child. Harry had told him once that Hermione missed having a family. Well, she didn’t know it yet, but she’d just got one, complete with all the meddling, headaches and craziness. “I promise,” Ron said, reaching out to squeeze her hand reassuringly.

Ginny nodded, and then wiped at her eyes quickly as she walked over to where the children were playing. Headless of her nice robes, she hiked them up a bit and kneeled down next to Philip. Ron couldn’t hear what she was saying to him, but he wasn’t surprised when after a few seconds, Ginny scooped Philip up and hugged him. She ran her fingers through his bright hair and then leaned down to rest her cheek against the top of his head as she looked over at Ron, silently mouthing the word - Precious.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I shouldn’t get any complaints this time around about the timeliness or the length of this chapter. . .LOL, just a shade under 9000 words and less than two weeks since the last time I posted. My muse deserves a cookie.

Seriously, the scene where Ron brings Philip to Ginny’s house, and she first mistakenly believes that Philip is an orphan he’s brought her was in my mind since I started this story. I’d been looking forward to writing Ron falling apart around Ginny when he’s had to be so strong up until that point. I had fun writing this chapter (though, I was sad for Ron) and I’d love to see if you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

At this point, I think we need to give a HUGE thanks to my betas, Seakays, MrsPadf00t and Jenorama who betaed this beast so quickly. They really deserve cookies too, because I have a good 13,000 more words written of the next two chapters sitting on my hard drive and neither chapter is finished.

I guess that’s it. . .I’m sure I’ll have a the next chapters up soon, so keep an eye out.


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione stared at her desk, lost in thought over everything. She probably shouldn’t have come into work, but she found that she needed space from Ron after all the tension of the last few days. Ron obviously needed space too, because he’d almost sighed in relief when she’d asked him to keep an eye on Philip while she went to work for a few hours.

She really should be working instead of daydreaming. She had missed quite a bit of work yesterday, having spent most of the day fretting over Philip. Things hadn’t gotten any better when Harry had returned from the French Ministry horrified and shaken. The men he’d gone to question had both been found dead in their cells early that morning, taking with them any secrets they might have had regarding Malfoy’s motivations for attacking Hermione.

When Ron had returned later that evening, he quickly came to the same conclusion as Harry and Hermione. It was obvious that there were spies in the ministry, and it was more than likely her work on the protection spell for Harry that had prompted the attack. Knowing that there were people at the ministry capable of killing prisoners--people who had access to her private work--was more than a little unsettling and she had decided that from now on her work on that particular spell would remain in her flat.

Too distracted to work, and totally sick of worrying about Malfoy and the reasons for his sudden interest in her, she chose instead to think on her more personal issues. Hermione rested her chin on her hand as she stared at the picture on her desk of her, Ron and Harry in their seventh year. The boys looked so dashing in their Quidditch uniforms and she looked so carefree. She hardly remembered what it felt like to be so loved, to have parents and friends and people around her who knew more about her than her name. If only things could have been different.

Hermione was still staring at the picture when someone cleared their throat, pulling her from her daydreams. “I’m sorry,” she said in French, glancing up and seeing a tall woman in form-fitting robes leaning casually against the doorway to her office. Hermione looked back down at her desk, sorting out her paperwork as she groaned inwardly. This was just what she needed. From one glance she could tell that the witch in her office was one of those people who rolled out of bed looking perfect. She was probably there because she’d heard Hermione was a sucker for taking on other people’s projects. She probably had a date with a rich wizard and couldn’t be bothered. God, but Hermione hated women like that. “How can I help you?” she said, still straightening her desk and not looking up.

“You’ll forgive me if I ask for a translation,” the woman said in English, her voice obviously laced with mirth. “My French is a bit rusty.”

Hermione paused, a stack of parchment in hand. She knew that voice, and she looked up slowly. The woman was still leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed, causing her already full breasts to be even more noticeable; especially in the tight green robes she was wearing. Her red hair flowed long and thick over her shoulders, casually loose, but still perfect in a way Hermione’s could never be.

Hermione couldn’t help it; she gaped for several second before she pulled herself together. “Ginny?”

“And here I thought you hadn’t remembered me,” Ginny said, walking into the office with a grace Hermione couldn’t help but admire. “You almost hurt my feelings.”

“My God, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, standing up and walking around the desk. “You look--” She held out a hand, looking at Ginny again and shaking her head. Never let it be said that the Weasleys didn’t grow into themselves nicely. “You look different. . . I-I mean, in a good way. . . You look fantastic, actually.”

“Thank you!” Ginny beamed, flashing a radiant smile at Hermione. “You look great too.” Ginny reached out and gripped Hermione’s shoulders, tilting her head as she boldly looked her up and down. “Motherhood must suit you. You’re practically glowing.”

Hermione couldn’t help but groan. She’d almost forgotten that Ron had taken Philip to see Ginny. “You probably hate me,” she said, stepping back when Ginny didn’t let go of her shoulders.

“Hate is a very strong word, Hermione,” Ginny said, and then gestured to the chair on the other side of Hermione’s desk. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, feeling very flustered. “D-do you want some tea? I can just go--”

“Sit, please,” Ginny said, pointing to the other chair. “I’m fine.”

Hermione sat, feeling sort of numb as she looked across her desk at the woman who used to be one of her closet friends. “What’re you doing here?” she asked a little accusingly. “Getting a Portkey can be a headache.”

“Oh, I know the lads in the Portkey office. They had one made in no time,” Ginny said, as she leaned back against the chair and continued to study Hermione in a way that made her uneasy. “I’m always at the Ministry for something. You get to know people after a while, but you know that.”

No, Hermione really didn’t. She’d had this office for the past two years and she only knew a handful of the other employees, but she wasn’t going to let Ginny know that. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Hermione asked when she found herself at a loss once more. “There are snacks in the lounge.”

Ginny shook her head, smiling a little as she crossed her arms again. “You can stop being so tense, Hermione. I’m not here to yell at you. This is purely a social visit. Didn’t Ron tell you I might be stopping by? ”

“No,” Hermione said, fighting down the urge to groan in frustration at Ron. She was sure he kept that little bit of information from her on purpose. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Must have slipped his mind,” Ginny said airily as she looked around. “Your office is lovely, much nicer than Harry’s and Ron’s at the British Ministry. You must have a very important job here.”

“I like it,” Hermione said, still feeling tense despite Ginny’s assurances. “You’ll excuse me, but why are you here again?”

“You’re the mother of my nephew. I know you and Ron aren’t married, but to me that still makes us sisters,” Ginny said, sounding sincere, though Hermione still had the underlying feeling of being an insect about to be trapped in a spider’s web. “I didn’t think I needed a reason, was I mistaken?”

“I--” Hermione opened her mouth, finding once again that she was at a loss and she shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Hasn’t it?” Ginny smiled, leaning forward and resting her hand on Hermione’s desk. “And I really can’t go another minute without telling you how absolutely adorable Philip is. He’s just precious!”

“I think so.” Hermione couldn’t resist smiling back at Ginny. Thinking of Philip always made her smile. “He’s the light of my life.”

“I’m sure. . .And he’s so smart!” Ginny said as she casually picked up the picture Hermione had been looking at. She grinned as she stared at it, and then turned it around to face Hermione. “I always loved this picture of the three of you. I haven’t seen this one is years. You wouldn’t have a copy of it would you?”

“If I don’t, I’m sure I could make you one.”

Ginny set the picture back. “That’d be wonderful. Last night after Ron left I started looking through all my old photos for a picture of you and Ron together, but I couldn’t find any without Harry in it. . .You three really were inseparable, weren’t you?”

“We were,” Hermione said, her voice growing wistful for a second before she shook herself. “Why were you looking for pictures of Ron and I?”

“To put on my mantel,” Ginny said, as she ran her fingers through her hair, casually twirling the red strands between her thumb and forefinger. “I have a picture of all my brothers’ families on my mantel. Just having one of Ron by himself didn’t seem right anymore. This one will do until I can get one of you three together.”

“Us three?”

“Yes, you, Ron and Philip,” Ginny said as she leaned back against the chair, still twirling her hair. “I’m sure we’ll get plenty of good ones at Christmas. My father loves taking pictures. He’ll drive you mad with it.”

Hermione was starting to feel a little sick, and ran a shaky hand over her forehead. “C-Christmas.”

“Yes, at the Burrow,” Ginny said, and then frowned, looking concerned. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

“I-I hadn’t thought on it, to be honest,” Hermione said, feeling overwhelmed. “I’m not sure Ron would want me to come to the Burrow on Christmas.”

“Of course he does. We already discussed it. He was really looking forward to it.”

Hermione looked at her skeptically. “I highly doubt that, Ginny.”

“Oh Hermione,” Ginny said, leaning forward and gripping Hermione’s hand in hers. “You know Ron’s all bark and no bite. But, I won’t lie to you, his feelings are hurt.”

Hermione nodded, feeling her heart sink. “I know and I really didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ginny said reassuringly. “You wanted a baby and he didn’t. You just didn’t want to bother him.”

“Right,” Hermione said, shocked that someone finally understood. “I know how hard his job is. It wasn’t fair to burden him just because I needed a baby.”

“And he’s a precious baby,” Ginny said, putting her hand to her chest. “Would you believe that none of my other nieces and nephews have hair that color red.”

“Really,” Hermione said, shocked once again. “I wouldn’t have thought that.”

“Nope, none of them,” Ginny said, shrugging. “Of course, Fred’s married to Angelina, so their children have that lovely tan skin and brown hair, and Charlie and Cho’s two little girls have black hair like their mother. . . George’s wife Denise has quite dark hair and olive skin, so his six children favor her--”

Hermione gaped. “Did you say six?”

“I know, insane isn’t it?” Ginny said, laughing. “Be thankful you didn’t get twins. Angelina’s two youngest are twins and they are a handful. I pity that poor woman. Fred’s past is coming back to haunt him in those two. . . Anyway, the only ones that come close are Bill and Fleur’s children, but their hair is really more of a strawberry blonde than red--must be the Veela coming out in them.”

“Wow,” Hermione said, smiling again as she thought about it. “I always just assumed Philip’s hair would be Ron’s color. I never imagined him with anything but red.”

“Just wait until my mother sees him. Not that she doesn’t love all her grandchildren. . .But I think she was secretly hoping that at least one of them would have our coloring,” Ginny said and then she looked suddenly sad. “Of course, she’ll probably be a little upset about not knowing about him for so long.”

Hermione’s heart clenched. “God, I know--”

Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. . .She won’t blame you,” she said, pulling a face. “She’ll know it was Ron’s fault.”

“But, it wasn’t--”

“Of course it is,” Ginny said, leaning forward again. “Ron’s my brother and I love him to death, but I have to say, sleeping with you and then not contacting you for three years. . . That’s horrid. If he’d made an effort to keep in touch, I’m sure you would have told him about Philip.”

“Maybe, but--”

“And to think of all you had to go through on your own,” Ginny said, placing her hand dramatically against her chest. “I know how hard it is to be a single mother. . .Of course, I didn’t actually give birth to my children, but I still feel like they’re mine. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded and then she also reached forward, resting her hand on top of Ginny’s. “Ron told me what you do for those children and I have to say that I think it’s really wonderful.”

“It’s a labor of love, really it is. . . And I do have lots of help. My mother is always there to watch the kids for me, and Ron’s like my right hand. He bends over backwards for my babies. Mind you, that doesn’t excuse what he’s done to you and I, for one, want to have a front row seat when my mother finds out about all this. I’ve had my family to support me, but you’ve had to raise Philip all on your own. I can’t imagine.”

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hand as guilt surged through her. “Ginny, it really wasn’t Ron’s fault. I tricked him into giving me Philip.”

“My brother is a fully grown wizard who’s been around the block a time or two, if you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Ginny said as she reached over and pulled Hermione’s hands down, giving her a sad smile. “He should have realized how desperately you needed a family, and he certainly should have owled you after what you two shared. Don’t defend Ron when it’s obvious that the fault clearly lies with him.”

“I don’t want Ron to have any problems with your family,” Hermione said desperately. “Do you really think your mother’s going to be angry with him?”

“Are you kidding? She’s going to murder him.” Ginny swallowed hard, looking like she was near tears. “He’s robbed all of us of the chance to watch that precious baby grow up! During these hard times, there’s nothing we value above our family, Hermione. You and Philip are our family now. I know it’s silly, but I cried when he left,” Ginny said, wiping at her eyes that were glossy now. “Really, I don’t know if I can forgive him. It would have meant everything to me to see Philip crawling and walking for the first time. . .To hear his first words. I know my mother will feel the same.”

“He’s still young,” Hermione said, finding that her eyes were also stinging. “I’ll make sure you get to see him all the time.”

Ginny sniffed, lowering her hand and looking at Hermione hopefully. “Really?”

“Of course. . . I want Philip to know his family.”

She sniffed again, nodding as she wiped at her eyes. “I knew you’d understand, Hermione. I was a little worried when Ron said you didn’t want to marry him, but in my heart--” Ginny once again placed her hand on her chest. “I knew that if I could talk to you it’d be okay.”

“Oh Ginny,” Hermione sighed, leaning back against the chair and running a hand through her hair, and then sighed again when it got caught in a tangle almost instantly. She let her hand drop onto her lap as she started at the desk. “Maybe I would marry him if I thought there was even a chance he could love me. . . But I honestly don’t think there is.”

“Hermione, my brother has pined for you for years,” Ginny said sincerely. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him look at another woman in three years, let alone date one.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, feeling a small amount of hope burst inside of her. “He hasn’t dated anyone?”

“Not a soul,” Ginny said and then leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered. “He’d kill me for saying this, but between you and me. . .I don’t think he’s slept with a woman since the night you two made Philip.”

Hermione stared at Ginny in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“I’m almost positive. . . He used to date, but then he just stopped all of a sudden. It was the strangest thing, but knowing he was with you—Well, now it makes sense. No woman would stand a chance against the woman he’s loved forever.”

“Used to love,” Hermione said cynically. “He hates me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s a man, Hermione. . .Men get mean and vindictive when they are hurting. Don’t you see?” Ginny said as she once again stared at Hermione, shaking her head sadly. “If he didn’t care he wouldn’t be so angry.”

“I should have told him about Philip,” Hermione whispered. She stared down at her desk, that was quickly becoming a watery blur, and she blinked rapidly to stop the tears from falling. “I really never meant to hurt him. . .I was just lonely and I wanted a baby so badly, but it was selfish of me to use Ron like that.”

“Water under the bridge, love.” Ginny reached out and lifted Hermione’s chin with her forefinger, giving Hermione a sad smile. “You’ve got Philip now and he’s wonderful. Ron knows about him and he already adores him. He was such a proud dad yesterday. You should have seen him.”

Hermione nodded, wiping at the tears that rolled rebelliously down her face despite her best attempt to stop them. “I never realized how much Ron liked children.”

“He adores them. . . I understand why you wouldn’t want to marry him, but you have to know how awful it’d be for Ron if he couldn’t see his son every day, especially after having missed so much.”

“I know,” Hermione said miserably. “But I can’t marry a man who doesn’t love me.”

“You don’t stop being in love with someone just because they hurt you,” Ginny said, holding out a hand and gesturing at Hermione. “Look at you, you still love Ron after everything he’s put you through. Ron’s the same. All you have to do is help him remember.”

“How do I do that?” Hermione asked; feeling like the situation was hopeless.

“Easy,” Ginny said, flashing a mischievous smile out of nowhere. “You’ll just have to seduce him.”

Hermione laughed incredulously. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Ginny said, once again tilting her head to study her. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman and I know how smart and cunning you can be. If you used what you have against him, he’d be eating out of your hand in no time.”

Hermione felt her face burn, and she chuckled a little as she leaned her elbow on her desk and rested her forehead on her palm. “Ginny, I’m really not the type of woman who could seduce a man. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Ginny smiled, biting at her lip for a second like she was trying to hold back before she gave a little laugh. “Hermione, we’re both women, practically sisters. . .We can speak frankly, can’t we?”

“Of course, yes,” Hermione said, nodding.

“Not to demean my brother, or men in general, because over all I do like them very much--”

“Them?”

“Men,” Ginny said, giving another dramatic sigh. “They really are simple creatures.”

Hermione pulled a face. “I don’t think I follow.”

Ginny huffed, once again looking to choose her words carefully. “Look, it’s like this. . .You wouldn’t have to seduce my brother. All you’d really have to do is let him know you were available, nature would take its course from there.”

“Yes, but I’m not available, Ginny,” Hermione said a bit harshly. “I’m really not interested in a romantic relationship with Ron.”

“But you said you loved him.”

“I--” Hermione opened her mouth, not really remembering when she’d confided that bit of information.

“If we left the details up to the men they’d foul everything up,” Ginny said slowly as though talking to a small child. “In matters of the heart, matters of the family, it’s up to us to keep them in line. They want to do the right thing, bless their souls, but they usually get lost somewhere along the way. My brother’s being a prat because he’s lost. . .You need to guide him back to where he’s supposed to be. This is your family, Hermione. It’s up to you to set it right, because if you wait for my brother to do it. . .I’m afraid you’re going to be waiting a long time.”

“My family,” Hermione whispered, once again looking at her desk and idly tracing the lines of wood on it. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Yes, and it’s a wonderful family. One worth fighting for, don’t you think?” Ginny said, sounding sad once again. “You really don’t want to send your baby away on weekends and holidays, do you, Hermione?”

“No,” Hermione said, swallowing hard. “But, I know how badly Ron wants to see him.”

“Of course he does. Deep down, Ron’s heart is always in the right place. You two make a lovely couple and I know it won’t take much to set things right. He’s needed a woman in his life for a long time now and I’m so thankful it’s you.” Ginny said, standing up and smoothing out her robes. “And don’t worry about my mother. I think once she realizes that Ron intends to do the right thing by you she’ll calm down considerably.”

“I’m not agreeing to marry him, Ginny,” Hermione said, not wanting her to get the wrong impression.

“Well, like I said, it’s your family and either way I support you,” Ginny sighed as she looked down at Hermione. “But if it were me, I’d find a way to keep my family together. I really can’t imagine sending one of my children off to another country on weekends, especially considering the state of our world today. I suppose it’d be different if Ron didn’t love you, but we both know he does and I know you’ll help my brother remember that.”

Hermione sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Ginny said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I better leave and let you get back to work.”

“No, it’s fine,” Hermione said as she made quick work of gathering the files she needed to take home. “I was just about to leave anyway. . .Would you like to come over and see Philip again?”

Ginny beamed. “That’d be lovely.”

“I think Harry’s there too,” Hermione said as she stood up and put her files into her bag. “He said he’d be stopping by later.”

Ginny’s smile waned, and her voice was suddenly a bit strained. “Did he?” she said, as she ran her fingers through her hair once more, looking thoughtful. “Yes, I think I would like to see your flat and as it happens, I need to have a word or two with Harry anyway.”

“Great,” Hermione said as she buttoned her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll make dinner for all of us. I’m sure the boys will be thrilled to see you.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Ginny said, looking relaxed once more. She surprised Hermione by reaching out and linking her arm in hers, happily patting her hand in sisterly affection. “I’m so happy to see you again, Hermione. It really has been too long.”

~*~

Ron was feeling better than he had in the last few days. He enjoyed spending time with Philip by himself, having realized that he hadn’t been with his son without someone else there, looking over his shoulder and making him feel self-conscious. Alone, he could be himself and he’d enjoyed spending the day lounging on the floor of Hermione’s flat, playing with toys and enjoying Philip’s enthusiasm. Hermione obviously didn’t enhance any of Philip’s toys, odd, since in Ron’s mind a toy was virtually useless unless it was animated. He thought every parent knew that. What good were stuffed animals that didn’t talk back to you or return the hugs they were given? Growing up, his toys had been animated from the moment he opened them and he was always sure to cast the appropriate charms on the toys he wrapped for his nieces and nephews for Christmas and birthdays.

Needless to say, Ron had his work cut out for him. Philip had enjoyed every minute of it, especially when he’d charmed his blocks, which seemed to be Philip’s preferred toys, to build on command. Ron had been sorting through the toys in Philip’s toy box that he’d dragged into the living room when Harry had shown up. Like a child on Christmas Harry had admitted that he’d never once thought to enhance Philip’s toys. It seemed like Harry was having almost as much fun as Philip playing with the newly enhanced toys, which amused Ron greatly.

“You act like you’ve never played with blocks, Harry,” Ron said, laughing as he rummaged through Philip’s toy box and pulling out a stuffed hippogriff.

“I haven’t,” Harry said, looking up from where he lay on the floor, his chin resting on his hand as he casually knocked over the small bridge in front of him. “Do the Eiffel Tower.” On command, the blocks stacked themselves up to make a very poor replica of the Eiffel Tower. Harry eyed the structure, turning his head and pulling a face. “We need smaller blocks to make it work right. . .You can’t make much with these big ones.”

“More blocks!” Philip said and then knocked down the Eiffel Tower. “Make a dragon!”

The blocks tried to do as told, but the outcome was a pathetic clump of confused blocks.

“Oh, that’s just sad,” Harry said, shaking his head. “We need to buy you more blocks, mate.”

“Here,” Ron said, turning around and crawling over to some crayons he’d found earlier. “Get some parchment, Harry.”

Harry jumped up and by the time he’d returned from Hermione’s office Ron had charmed the Muggle crayons. Ron took the parchment from Harry and laid it out on the floor. Then he dumped out the crayons. “Draw a dragon.”

The crayons did as told, quickly drawing an elaborate and colorful dragon on the parchment. Philip laughed and then snatched the parchment up once the crayons were done. “Uncle Harry’s dragon!”

“Not quite,” Ron said, taking another piece of parchment and laying it out. “Draw a Hungarian Horntail and Harry on a broomstick.”

“Oh, that’s weird!” Harry said, eyeing the parchment as his likeness appeared on it along with a Hungarian Horntail. Then he smiled at Ron as he pulled his own wand out of his pocket. “Watch,” he said to Philip and then tapped the parchment. “Vividus.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Ron said, wanting to smack his forehead. His mum always used to cast that spell on his drawings when he was little. “It’s been ages since I’ve colored.”

Philip clapped and squealed as the drawing came to life. “It moves!” He handed Ron the dragon drawing he still had in his hand. “Dad, make it move!”

In no time the three of them had parchment strewn all across the living room, which mixed with the toys, many of them walking around on their own, created quite a mess.

Ron was laying flat on his back, admiring a drawing of animated chess piece he’d just created. He cast the spell to make it move and grinned when the knight drew its sword. “Look, Harry,” Ron said, handing the parchment to Harry who was also sprawled out on Hermione’s living room carpet.

“Cool,” Harry said and then handed Ron the drawing he’d been working with for a while. Ron took the picture, laughing at the drawing of Draco Malfoy flying and then crashing spectacularly, complete with blood and gore at the end of the animation. “I think I’m going to hang that one in my office.”

“Just don’t let Philip see it,” Ron said, handing it back to him.

Harry rolled up the parchment and stuck it in the pocket of his Auror robes. “I won’t.”

Philip jumped on top of Ron with another piece of parchment, almost knocking the air out of him in his excitement. “Make this one move!”

“Let’s see,” Ron said, taking the parchment as Philip sat on his chest, smiling proudly. “Oh, is this your school?”

“School!” Philip said, pointing at a small redheaded child in the picture. “There’s me!”

“I see,” Ron said, turning the picture and admiring it for a second. Then he pulled his wand out and cast the charm on it, making the picture come to life as the children in the drawing dashed out of the school and started running and playing. “Are those your mates?”

“Mates!” Philip said, taking the picture back, still comfortably sitting on Ron’s chest as he watched the picture. “Play!”

All three of them turned as the door to the flat jiggled and then opened. Hermione’s face was a mask of horror as she stared at the disaster zone that had once been her living room. She instantly blocked the door, turning around so that Ron, Harry and Philip could only see her back. “I swear, my flat is usually quite neat,” she said to an unknown person, sounding scandalized.

“Don’t worry about it, Hermione. I’m sure it isn’t anything I haven’t seen.”

Ron turned to see Harry mouth, What is she doing here? Just as his sister breezed into Hermione’s living room.

“Looks like you lot have been having fun?” Ginny laughed as she looked around at the mess, appearing very at ease. “Oh, this is nothing. . .You should see what my house looks like at the end of the day.”

“What--” Hermione reached down, picking up one of the drawings and watched it for a second, shaking her head. “What have you been doing?”

Ron would have answered her, but Ginny picked that moment to burst in from the kitchen, having wandered there on her own. “Oh, Ron, is this the cabinet you were talking about?”

“Yeah.”

Ginny grabbed Hermione’s arm, pulling her into the kitchen. “You really must show me how all these things work—And I must say, your flat is just lovely. . .How do you make such good use of your space?”

When the two girls walked back into the kitchen, Harry flipped over onto his back and then sat up, repeating his earlier question in a scandalized whisper. “What is she doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said, setting Philip back on the floor. “Here mate, draw your mum a picture.” Once Philip was properly distracted, Ron turned back to Harry. “She said she’d talk to Hermione, but I didn’t think she was serious.”

“Oh God,” Harry said, barely suppressing a laugh as he covered his mouth and mumbled through his fingers. “You are so fucked. Who knows what they’ve been talking about?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron said, casting a concerned glance at his sister and Hermione who were still talking in the kitchen as Hermione explained the cooling cabinet to Ginny. The last thing he needed right now was Ginny’s meddling. His sister was capable of dangerous things. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“You think so, do you?” Ron said, smiling evilly back at Harry. “She was mad at you before she found out about Philip. Guess what her reaction was when she found out his mother was your best friend.”

Harry paled, also casting a look over at the women in the kitchen. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah, not laughing now, are you?” Ron said, arching an eyebrow at Harry. “I wouldn’t find myself alone with her, if I were you.”

“It looks like you have a beautiful view,” Ginny said, coming out of the kitchen and looking out towards the balcony. “Harry, why don’t you walk out with me?”

Harry looked up at her from the floor, pulling a face. “Um--”

“Hermione, you don’t mind if I borrow him, do you?” Ginny said as she reached down and not-too-gently pulled Harry to his feet. She started leading him towards the large glass doors that lead out to the balcony, and then turned back for a second. “Ron, be a love and clean up this mess. You know better.”

Harry was looking at him pleadingly and Ron felt the need to help his best mate, even if there was a side of him that was happy to let him deal with Ginny’s wrath. “Hermione will show you the view. Let Harry stay and help me since he created half the mess.”

“Nonsense,” Ginny said, waving her hand dismissively. “You’re a fully qualified wizard. I’m sure you can handle it on your own.”

Ginny had Harry outside before Ron could think of an appropriate comeback. Knowing there was no help for Harry he started picking up the mess, casting spells that caused the papers to organize and the toys to fly back into the toy chest. Philip pleaded with him to leave the blocks, so he let those be, along with the crayons that Philip was still playing with.

“It looks like you had fun while I was gone,” Hermione said, coming in from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Ron said, not looking up as he picked up a few more stray toys by hand and chucked them into the toy chest. “Why didn’t you cast any Animation Charms on his toys?”

“I think it hampers his creative play,” Hermione said, eyeing Philip as he laughed and clapped over the crayons that were still drawing. “How can he learn to draw himself when the crayons do it for him?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “He can still use them to color on his own if he wants.”

Hermione pursed her lips as she glared at him. “Why didn’t you mention that your sister was going to be stopping by? I was quite thrown off when she just showed up in my office.”

“I didn’t think she was serious,” Ron said, dumping the last of the toys in the toy box and folding his arms over his chest. “Trust me, I would have warned you otherwise.”

“Warned me?” Hermione said, frowning at him. “She was very pleasant.”

Ron snorted. “Look, this is free advice. . . It’ll serve you well to remember that my family is extremely meddling. Their hearts are in the right place, but they’re a headache on their best days, Ginny most of all.”

“I didn’t get that impression,” Hermione said, her voice drifting off as she looked past Ron. “Are they arguing?”

“Huh?” Ron followed her gaze, seeing Ginny red-faced and yelling at Harry as she stomped her foot. Harry lazily took a drag off his cigarette and blew out the smoke, seemingly unaffected by Ginny’s tantrum. “They’re fine.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione tilted her head and frowned as muffled shouting drifted in to the flat from outside. “I think she’s trying to hex him.”

“Harry’s head of the entire Auror division. He can handle it,” he said, waving them off dismissively as Philip ran over to him. Ron leaned down to take the picture he was holding out. “What’s this?”

“Make it move!” Philip said, jumping in place as Ron studied his recent picture.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, biting his lip to hide his smile. He liked the picture far more than he wanted to admit. “I think this one looks better not moving.” He handed it to Hermione. “What do you think?”

Hermione took the picture and looked down at it. She smiled brilliantly, making Ron’s breath catch. She was radiant when she smiled. “Wow, it looks almost real.”

“It’s you!” Philip said, jumping up and poking sharply at the parchment. “I said draw Mummy!”

“I love it!” Hermione handed the picture back to Ron and picked Philip up. “Did you have fun with your dad today?”

Ron rolled up the parchment and smoothly tossed the picture into his open bag by the couch while Philip and Hermione talked. He wasn’t really sure why he did it, but he liked the picture and he knew Hermione would probably just shove aside a picture of herself. It was a good likeness of her and she was smiling in it. Her warm brown eyes sparkled when she smiled like that and that look never stopped affecting Ron. He was amazed at how well the crayons he’d charmed had captured her when she was happy.

It’d be a shame to let such a good drawing of her get tossed aside. One day Philip would enjoy seeing a picture that he’d created for his mum. Ron would just keep it for him until then.

“We’re going to have Aunt Ginny over for dinner,” Hermione was saying to Philip, still hugging him to her as she ran her fingers through his bright hair. “That’ll be fun.”

Ron groaned. “You invited her for dinner?”

Hermione looked up, her face startled. “I thought you’d be happy to have your sister over.”

“Not really,” Ron said, pulling a face. “I see my sister all the time.”

“Well, Philip and I don’t,” Hermione said, ignoring him and turning back to Philip who was now twisting a stand of her curly hair between his fingers as she held him. “We’d love to spend time with Aunt Ginny, wouldn’t we?”

“Aunt Ginny!” Philip said, still twisting Hermione’s hair in a way that made Ron wince, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Dinner! Hungry!”

Ron sighed, shaking his head in defeat and deciding he should at least warn Hermione about Ginny’s tendency to be more than a little manipulative. “Listen, about my sister--”

“Your view is breathtaking,” Ginny said as she opened the door to the balcony, cutting Ron off mid-sentence. “This flat must have cost a fortune.”

“I got a pretty good deal on it,” Hermione said, smiling as Ginny walked back into the flat. “I’ve thought of buying a home, but I couldn’t bear to move. Philip and I love it here and there’s a wonderful park just up the way.”

“A park,” Ginny said, leaning down and addressing Philip. “You must love playing there.”

“Play!” Philip said and then reached for Ginny, which didn’t surprise Ron. Children naturally gravitated towards her. “Aunt Ginny.”

Ginny gave Philip a beaming smile as he continued to reach for her, and then politely looked to Hermione. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Hermione said, handing Philip to her. “Is everything okay? I thought I saw you and Harry arguing.”

“Fine,” Harry said in a strained voice, and Ron didn’t miss that he was walking with a considerable limp as he came in from the balcony. “We were just talking Quidditch.”

Ginny went to the couch without commenting as she started talking to Philip who settled happily on her lap. Harry looked over at her, shaking his head in stunned amazement and then turned back to Hermione. “Maybe I’ll help you with dinner.”

“Is your foot okay?” Hermione asked, tilting her head and studying Harry in concern as she followed him into the kitchen. “You’re limping.”

“My foot is fine,” Harry said, his voice still strained but loud enough to echo into the living room. “But other parts may need some recovery time.”

Ron’s eyes grew wide and he turned to Ginny, speaking in a shocked whisper. “Gin, you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” she asked in mock innocence, smiling sweetly as she looked up. “Did you know that Philip can count to twenty in English and French? Show your dad, love.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Another chapter. . .I’m on such a roll! I won’t ask for cookies this time. My muse still has a tummy ache from all the ones you gave him last time. We wouldn’t want to distract him.

Seriously, you guys have been great! I adored all the reviews and it really helped motivate me to get this chapter done. I’m nearly finished with the next chapter too and I think it’ll be another long one :D You have all been so sweet, taking the time to let me know what you thought about the latest chapters. I promise that I’ll try to be quick with the next one too. . . Perhaps a week or two at the most.

Once again, another HUGE thanks to my betas, Seakays, Jenorama, and MrsPadf00t, who have worked extra hard this past month. Not only have they betaed SEVERAL chapters for me (both as RedBlaze and BlueRain) but they’ve done it quickly and efficiently as well. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, if you haven’t read these three ladies lovely work, do so. . .They are all brilliant.

I guess that’s it. . . I’m curious what you think of this chapter, since it really was fun to write.


	16. Chapter 16

  
Author's notes:

Well. . .There you go :D

Here in the America it’s Thanksgiving and my dear friend and beta, Seakays, suggested I finish up this chapter for the occasion. I think it’s a bit appropriate and I find myself wanting to write the next chapters quickly because they will all be Christmas themed. Could be fun. . .if only I wasn’t so busy. My family and I are opening a store and it’s been a HUGE job getting it ready to be opened for the Holidays. Are we crazy or what?

I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. . .It was a huge project, one I started long before I posted the past several chapters. This one was sort of special to me. . .I’m curious to know what you all think. 

A huge thank you to my betas who are always so good to me. . .I tend to get caught up in real life and then just drop a chapter on them. They are always so sweet to get it done for me. I loff all three of them. . .Seakays, Jenorama, and mrspadf00t. . .You’re the bestest!

Also, a HUGE thank you to all of you who reviewed. . .I know it’s easy to just skip past and not bother, and I really want you to know that taking the time to let me know what you think of the story means the world to me. I’ve read every single one many, many times and each one makes me smile. So thank you! 

* * *

Dinner had gone well, though Hermione was concerned to see that Harry looked decidedly uncomfortable and miserable. She’d asked him several times if he was okay, and he’d assured her that he was and had visibly paled when Hermione had offered to help heal whatever injury was bothering him. 

She’d dropped it soon after, but she had to admit she was relieved Ginny had left with him. It was obvious something was bothering him and Ginny, caring for children the way she did was sure to be well versed in magical medicine. 

It had been so wonderful having Ginny around again. She had forgotten just how nice it was to have an old friend in her life. Someone who had known her when she had been happy; when she had been truly whole. Ginny's personality was so large that it had filled up the entire flat, and now that both she and Harry were gone, the flat felt cold and noticeably empty. She and Ron had put on a cloak of subtle pleasantry for their dinner guests, but that cloak was gone and in its place was a rigidity so solid that it all but choked the oxygen from the room.

Hermione had immediately taken Philip to have a bath and get him ready for bed, while Ron did the dishes and straightened up. It really was amazing how well she and Ron were able to behave like complete and total strangers in her small flat. They didn’t speak a word to each other until long after Philip had gone to sleep, and then Hermione only caught his attention long enough to tell him she’d put a fresh pillowcase on his pillow and laundered his blanket. 

Then Hermione had lay in bed staring at the ceiling until long after Ron had stopped rattling around the flat. She had never experienced tension even remotely close to what she and Ron were caught up in now. It was so thick in the air, one could almost cut it with a knife and she had absolutely no idea how to dispel it. If only they weren’t trapped together in her flat, they could get a little distance from one another and properly think about their situation. But after discovering Malfoy’s cronies had been murdered in their cells, Harry had assigned Ron to her, changing Ron’s status from reconnaissance to security despite Hermione’s rather colourful arguments against it. 

Ron was actually being paid to hang around and stress her out to the point that she found herself considering some sort of Nerve Calming Potion just to tolerate him. She felt as if she might jump out of her skin, she was that tense around him. Even now, when he was sleeping, just knowing he was just outside her door caused her stomach to jolt. 

She was still laying in bed, not the least bit sleepy, and far too distracted to bother reading when she started to hear moans coming from the living room. She may have let it go, having the fleeting thought that Ron best not be wanking in her living room, when she heard him shout in terror. She bolted out of bed on instinct, not even bothering with a dressing gown as she dashed into the living room. 

Ron lay on the couch, the blanket Hermione had given him kicked to the floor as he tossed and mumbled in his sleep. His chest was bare; the hard, muscled skin of his upper torso pale and glowing under the faint rays of moonlight that filtered into the room from the uncovered glass doors to her balcony. A deep frown marred his forehead and despite all the heartache, Hermione ached to reach out and smooth the unnatural line with her fingers. She didn’t know what had caused the nightmare he was currently battling, but it didn’t matter. The urge to pull him out of a horror that seemed to get worse with each raspy breath he took became overwhelming. 

“Ron,” she whispered, leaning over to lightly touch his shoulder. “Ron, wake up.”

He swatted her hand away roughly, mumbling a harsh, particularly vulgar word under his breath. Hermione bit at her lip. She didn’t want to startle him, but she couldn’t just stand there and watch him suffer. 

She leaned over him and brushed the sweaty fringe off his forehead in the same way she would have done for Philip. “Shhh, love, it’s just a dream,” she breathed into his ear. “Come on, Ron. . . Wake up for me.”

Hermione gasped when Ron jerked under her and his hand shot up and gripped her wrist, squeezing it painfully. He pulled her forward and suddenly she was flattened awkwardly against Ron’s bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the rapid thumping of his heartbeat through her thin nightdress. 

Hermione let out a cry of pain when his other hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head back. She found herself face to face with Ron’s piercing blue eyes, still wild from whatever dream he’d been having. Thankfully, he recovered quickly, and Hermione could see realization dawn on him as his grip on her hair loosened. 

“Hermione. . . wha?” Ron said, letting go of her hair and rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “What are you doing here?” 

“You were having a nightmare,” she whispered, still too stunned to move off him. “I was trying to wake you up.”

He stared at her, his eyes so vivid in the darkness, but the emotions swirling in them were impossible to read. His face was just inches from hers and that tension Hermione had noticed before seemed to multiply a thousand fold almost instantly. His breathing was harsh and shallow and Hermione found that her own breath seemed to be trapped in her chest. She was acutely aware of his body beneath hers, the feel of her breasts crushed against his hard, muscled chest. Much to her dismay, a rush of need flowed over her, pooling at her center. 

Ron’s eyes was still boring into hers, making her feel as if her most secret desires were laid out on the table and she anxiously shifted her hips to still the ache between her legs. A gasp slipped past her lips when she felt the evidence of Ron’s desire hard against her thigh. Her eyes grew wide, and she was surprised when Ron didn’t give her any reaction. He didn’t show the slightest sign of being embarrassed. Once again, that brought home to Hermione just how very little she knew about the man beneath her. The Ron she remembered would have blushed crimson at such blatant evidence of his arousal being discovered. 

“Ron?” 

Her voice was nothing but a raspy whisper, yet she found herself unable to look away from the indigo gaze that had haunted her dreams for longer than she could remember. 

He didn’t speak, didn’t even give her the slightest indication that he had heard her as his gaze raked over her face, stopping to rest on her lips. Feeling like she was trapped in a dream of her own fevered making, Ron’s hands reached up to cup her face, and then suddenly his mouth was on hers, a stark contrast to his fingers’ gentle caress against her cheeks--his mouth conquered. His lips were hard and searching as his tongue thrust past her lips, muffing her gasp of shock. 

There was a cruel ravishment to his kiss—It both punished and inflamed. Hermione’s heart jolted, her pulse pounded, and she tried to throttle the dizzying current flowing through her. She didn’t want to respond when he was still so very angry with her. She didn’t want to feel that drugging white-hot fire that shot through her body as his mouth moved over hers as though it belonged to him. 

She just couldn’t help herself. 

Hermione moaned and moved against him. Her body seemed to have a mind of it’s own as she responded, kissing him back with every bit the intensity he had shown her. Their tongues brushed, a fierce battle for control and she savored the victory as her tongue finally swept into his mouth, drinking in the heady taste of mint and tobacco, which shouldn’t be sexy, but for some reason it was. 

His hair felt so good against her fingers as they intertwined in the fiery locks, gripping roughly, as she too sought to punish for the heartache that he was putting her through. Even now, when she was on fire for him, it lingered, a dull ache in her chest over what could have been yet wasn’t any more. 

“Oh fuck, Hermione,” Ron rasped, his mouth breaking free from hers as his head tossed back against the pillow she’d given him. “Christ, why? Why do I still want you?”

His words were sharp and accusatory, as though she’d done something terribly wrong. She should be angry with him, but she wasn’t. His heavy voice, full of lust and desire only fueled her. Her lips descended onto his neck, licking at the curve of it, tasting the faint saltiness that she could only associate with Ron. A side of her she hadn’t know existed until that moment, reveled in the fact that even though Ron may hate her, he couldn’t stop wanting her. Maybe her conversation with Ginny had had more of an impact on her than she’d originally thought, because at that moment there was a blossoming, vindictive side of Hermione that wanted Ron literally begging for her. 

“This changes nothing,” she breathed against his ear, wanting it known that though she wanted him too; she refused to sacrifice her pride for him. “I’m still not marrying you.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Ron said, sounding entirely too confident. 

Her anger flared at his audacity, and she would have called him on it and pointed out what a barbaric prat he was being, but his hands in her hair tugged hard before she could respond, forcing her mouth to his and swallowing any protests. 

He may be a prat, but he certainly could kiss. It didn’t matter that if it was in love or anger, he still stole her thought and made the ache between her legs impossible to ignore. She wasn’t going to begin to understand Ron’s motivations in this, but she’d been lonely for so long, and despite the heartache, he was still the only man she’d ever desired like this. She’d like to have thought she was capable of being cunning like Ginny had suggested, of seducing Ron into being kind to her once more, but she’d only be lying to herself. She only had one reason for being straddled over him, her body moving against his in way that would have been much more than snogging if they didn’t have clothes on—She wanted Ron Weasley and no amount of hurt could stop it. 

His hands had slipped under her nightdress, causing the material to bunch between them uncomfortably as his rough fingers trailed over her bare back. She pulled away from him, sitting up briefly to tug her nightdress over her head and toss it aside, and then she fell back over him, one hand holding onto the side of the couch as the fingers of her other hand tangled into the red hair she loved so much and she crushed her mouth hungrily against his once more, swallowing his groan as her breasts flattened against his hard chest. 

Things went from desperate to stunningly intense so fast it was almost comical, but neither of them was laughing. They were pulling at Ron’s jeans, both of their legs tangling as Hermione finally managed to push them past his large feet and Ron kicked them to the floor. Her knickers were a total loss to the war, ripped beyond redemption as Ron switched their positions, his large body pressing hers deeply into the couch as both their chests heaved, and their lips met in hard open mouthed kisses. 

“Hermione,” Ron rasped as his hips moved against her, causing his erection to slide against her stomach. “I need you. . .I-I need to be in you.”

Hermione had almost forgotten just how big Ron was--all of him--his whole presence was over-powering when they were skin to skin. Though she’d been with him before as an adult, her mind usually lapsed back to their time at school, but like this there was no question that Ron was a fully-grown man, one who was shockingly desperate for her. 

“Oh,” she gasped when he pushed into her roughly, stretching her almost painfully. 

She squeezed her eyes shut when he started moving in her, pulling out and pushing back in hard and fast. Her heart burst with unexpected joy at just having him close--so close they were almost one person. For at that moment he didn’t hate her. She was so happy to be in his arms again that she hardly noticed the fiery ripples of pleasure that poured over her with every thrust. She didn’t care that they were both sweaty and sticky, or that Ron’s large, muscular body really made him as heavy as he looked. 

Hermione had missed him more than she’d ever realized.

She let her fingers trail lovingly over his muscled back, knowing that he wouldn’t notice just how gentle a caress it really was. Her legs wrapped around his hips and she hugged him tightly; needing the comfort he was unknowingly giving her. As he made love to her recklessly, Hermione took full advantage of the situation and loved him without restraint. Beautiful, just beautiful

The sounds he was making sent shivers thoughout her body and Hermione savored each one as his movements started to become erratic. She trailed her hand down his back, tracing the curve of his spine until she was gripping his hard bum, and that was what undid him. His whole body stiffened as his hips jerked against hers rhythmically and she felt his hot seed spill into her. 

He moaned her name in reverence against her ear, sounding eerily like he had the first time they had made love. Knowing he still wasn’t paying attention, a brilliant smile tugged at her lips in memory. 

His weight was crushing her, his breath still puffing out against her neck, and his heart was beating so hard she could feel it against her breasts. Yet, Hermione had never been so content, and she let fingers stroke almost lazily through his hair and over the nape of his neck. 

Lost in the afterglow, she moaned in loss when he suddenly pushed up with surprising strength, his forearms holding all of his weight as he stared down at her in shock. She didn't even have a chance to ask what had caused this abrupt change in behavior, before he was reaching behind her, his hand sliding underneath the pillow her head was resting on. He pulled out his wand, and pointed it at her. 

“Ron, don’t--” Hermione gasped, grabbing his wrist when she realized that he intended to do. “I’m on birth control potion.”

“You’ll understand why I can’t take your word on that,” Ron said bitterly. 

“No, I’m serious,” Hermione said as an uncomfortable pain spread over her chest when she realized the tenderness was over. “Don’t cast that charm. The healers put me on the potion after I had Philip. Please trust me on this.”

Hermione gaped when Ron cast the charm, sounding vindictive as he said it. She shoved at him, hardly able to comprehend what Ron’s anger had just done. “Get off me, you prat!”

When Ron obligingly rolled off her, she got up, hastily grabbing her nightdress and destroyed knickers off the ground and stomped down the hallway to her room. 

Ron sat on the couch, feeling sort of numb as he listened to the distant sound of the shower running from Hermione’s bathroom. Needing a distraction, he got dressed, digging into his bag for a clean undershirt and shorts, and then pulling on the jeans he’d been sleeping in. 

“Shit,” he groaned as he once again flopped down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. 

He hadn’t meant to make love to Hermione and he couldn’t believe that he’d been so caught up in it that he’d once again forgotten to cast a contraception charm. He knew the one he had cast would still work, since he’d done it quick enough afterwards, he just hated that her affect over him was still so strong, he had almost made the same mistake twice.

That’s what he got for going without sex for three years. He’d completely fallen apart the second he’d kissed her. It didn’t matter that his heart was broken, his body and soul still wanted her with a hunger that was totally overpowering. God, and it didn’t help his ego that Hermione hadn’t got off from it. He was almost thirty and yet he had fucked her like some randy teenager, not even making sure that she was taken care of before he let his own raging needs overwhelm him. She had just felt so good, and it had been so bloody long since he’d last touched her.

Ron needed a drink.

He grabbed the whiskey bottle out of his bag, and then sat on Hermione’s patio, smoking and imagining Hermione in the shower, angry as hell at him as she tried to wash his touch off. Could he blame her? He had acted like an idiot, using her body recklessly and then being a totally prat and casting that contraception charm. 

How brilliant was it that he didn’t remember until now that Harry mentioned she’d had problems giving birth to Philip? It would make sense for the healers to put her on birth control potion. He hated to admit it, but the longer he thought about it that more certain he was that this time, Hermione had been telling the truth. She wouldn’t go against the Healers advice. She hadn’t changed _that_ much. 

“I’m an arsehole,” he sighed and then took a long drink, hoping it’d kill the sting to his dignity. 

Yeah, he was really going to talk her into marrying him now. He couldn’t even satisfy her. He thought he was going to be sick, his pride hurt badly knowing that he hadn't fulfilled her sexually. It was one thing to be financially inferior to her--he’d been dealing with that bunk his whole life—it was something entirely different to be a bad shag. Living with that was way more than he could handle. 

Ron took another long drink of whiskey, feeling it burn down his throat as he made his decision. 

He was just going to have to rectify the situation. 

Hermione was in bed, trying to concentrate on the book she was reading when the door to her bedroom opened. She looked up at Ron, who was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a clean white shirt, and the blue jeans he’d had on earlier. 

God, she hated to admit that the prat looked really good with that white shirt showing off his muscled chest and large arms. His hair was still mused, making him look nicely disheveled as he gave her a long penetrating stare that burned her from across the room. 

She should have masturbated in the shower when she’d discovered that despite her raging anger, she was still frustrated from earlier, because the way Ron was looking at her right now caused her already tense body to react painfully to his presence. She definitely needed to look into a potion for her nerves, because he was driving her insane. 

She stiffly closed her book, and set it on the nightstand, hoping that her body language didn’t betray just how badly she still wanted him. “I don’t remember inviting you into my room.”

“Shut up, Hermione.”

She gasped indignantly, hardly able to fathom the sheer bollocks Ron had. If he wasn’t the most insensitive, selfish, arrogant, git she’d ever met, she didn’t know who was. “How dare you!”

“We’re going to play a game,” Ron said, walking into her room despite the lack of invitation. 

“I think I’ve had enough of your games for one night,” Hermione said, unable to stop herself from laughing at his audacity. 

Ron’s eyes flared at her laughter, and his back stiffened noticeably, but he went on like he hadn’t heard you. “Since every time we open our mouths we piss each other off. . .We’re going to try not talking.”

“Good, let's start now,” Hermione snapped. 

“That’s the plan,” Ron said and then reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt off with one fluid motion. 

Hermione’s eyes widened as he tossed his shirt aside. She stared at his bare chest in total shock. He couldn’t seriously be considering what she thought he might be considering. “What’re you--”

Ron stopped her words by placing his fingers over lips, and then reached down with his other hand and pulled her comforter back, his eyes locked with hers as he crawled over her. Hermione really couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, and she reached up, pulling his fingers away from her mouth. “I don’t thin--”

“No talking,” Ron said again, this time more firmly. “That’s the rules.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to the game, therefore the rules are null and void.”

Ron ran a hand roughly through his hair, making the already mussed red strands stand up even further as he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, as though in deep concentration and there was a side of Hermione that was extremely disappointed when he rolled off her, and stood up once more. 

She just stared up at him from her spot on the bed, not bothering to pull the sheet and comforter over herself, he had already seen her in far less than the clean nightdress she put on once she had got out of the shower. Ron still wasn’t talking, and for some insane reason Hermione found herself going along with whatever game he was playing, if for no other reason than it’d be silly to talk to someone who obviously wasn’t going to answer her back. 

Ron held out a hand to her, and Hermione broke eye contact with him to stare at his large palm held open to her as he silently waited. Even as angry as she was, it just wasn’t in her to turn away from him when he was reaching out to her. Before she could stop herself, she found her hand in his and he was pulling her up from her bed. 

Hermione stood in front of him in her nightdress, feeling ridiculous that they weren’t talking. Her eyes were level with his chest that really was very nicely defined, perhaps even more so than she remembered. She could still see the scars she’d noticed while they were at Harry’s cabin, some a bit more faded, while he sported one on his right bicep that was obviously new and still pink against his pale skin. He really needed to learn how to do proper healing charms in a timely manner. 

Hermione looked up at him when he gripped her arms. Ron’s eyes met hers unwaveringly, and then--obviously satisfied that she wasn’t going to leave--he released her arms only to turn and quickly pull the door shut to her room. He flipped the lock and she opened her mouth in protest, but before she could say something he was standing in front of her again, his hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her words. She arched an un-amused eyebrow at him, and his hold over her mouth loosened until only his thumb was there as he stared at her lips. Even knowing what he had planned, she was stunned when his thumb started tracing the line of her bottom lip slowly-- sensually. 

Hermione couldn’t stop the shudder that ran over her body, knowing that in the deafening silence of her bedroom, while he was studying her so intently, Ron would know that he was affecting her. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling frustrated and confused, hearing only the sound of her own raspy breathing as his fingers now traced the line of her jaw. 

This was insane!

Why was she so entranced by him? Why did the silence in the room make the throbbing between her legs a thousand times more noticeable? Why did such a light touch of his rough fingers running down the line of her throat feel so bloody good? She wasn’t just going to stand there and let him make a fool out of her again.

Maybe Hermione would have said something; maybe she would have even stopped whatever it was Ron was trying to accomplish, but she’d never know--Her eyes shot open when out of nowhere Ron dropped down on his knees in front of her.

Forget heavy, her breathing was downright labored as she looked down at him kneeling in front of her. She hadn’t had sex enough to know what her kinks were, but she decided right then that having Ron--the most painfully stubborn and prideful man she’d ever met-- submissive in front of her was by far the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. There was no other explanation for the tidal wave of lust that hit her so hard she almost groaned out loud from it. Need shimmered over her; so icy hot that she was certain every hair on her body was now standing on end. 

Hermione closed her eyes as she actually wavered where she stood. If things had been different between the two of them she would have reached out and gripped his shoulders to regain her balance, but as it was she took several deep breaths and only opened her eyes when she was certain she could manage looking down at Ron without making a fool of herself.

She was surprised to see that he wasn’t smirking at her in that annoyingly superior way of his, he was just waiting, his hands resting on his strong thighs as he openly stared at her breasts that were conveniently eyelevel with him. Her nipples tightened, making her feel as if his gaze alone was touching her. He licked his lips and tilted his head back to meet her eyes once more and Hermione realized that it was her move. Ron really wasn’t going to do anymore unless she encouraged him. 

She’d never been more turned on in her life. Especially when she knew how very hard it was for Ron to bow down to anyone. Oddly enough, in that position of submission she realized just how powerful a wizard Ron had become. He was a very talented Auror, a strong and selfless man who had spent over a third of his life protecting everyone from an enemy so evil she wasn’t sure she could totally fathom it. To have a man that strong, that powerful, who also happened to look divine shirtless and barefoot, kneeing in front of her—Well, that was the stuff fantasies were made of.

Her pride be damned. Hermione pushed at the straps of her nightdress without hesitation.

The silk whispered over her body, pooling at her feet, and she hastily kicked it aside. Hermione groaned when Ron reached out to grip her waist, his work worn hands sensually rough against her sensitive skin as they slowly slid over her rib cage, and then wrapped around to the middle of her back. He pulled her to him, and her body was totally languid in his arms as she arched into him. Her fingers finally reached out to grip at his shoulders for support as his tongue laved over the tight tip of one breast, and then sucked it into his mouth. 

“Oh my God,” she gasped as pleasure zinged almost painfully from her nipple to the throbbing, moist heat between her legs. 

The second the words left her mouth, Ron’s released her and Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from making the mistake again. She tangled her fingers in his copper hair, forcing his mouth back to her breast, and he obeyed instantly as his tongue once again swirled over at the aching tip. 

She was dying, the throb for release was that intense and it only got more agonizing with each heart-stopping second. Her sharp breathing was muffled by the strong hold her teeth had on her lip as Ron’s mouth moved over to her other breast, giving it equal attention. In direct contrast to his actions earlier, every movement he made was tortuously slow and sensual, his mouth on her skin, his hands lazily running up and down her back sending fire shimmering over her, it was all teasingly soft and gentle. 

One hand was still tangled in his thick hair, and Ron had to hold most of her weight as she leaned into him heavily, her head lolling to the side as he licked his way up to the curve of her neck. Unable to stand the ache between her thighs for one more second, she reached down with her free hand and pushed at her knickers. She kicked them off impatiently, hating that she couldn’t tell him what she needed. Pride already in tatters, aching so badly that she felt like she would burst into flames at any moment, she slid her own hand between her thighs and touched herself. 

Ron, who’d been completely silent until that moment, growled against her neck and then pulled away from her, his heavy breathing now echoing with hers in the silence. She couldn’t help but open her eyes to stare down at him as he watched what her hand was doing, his expression totally stunned as he glanced back up with a darkened eyes. 

It was almost sinful how good it felt to have shocked him, especially knowing that for some reason, it turned him on to watch her. Ron may have found one of her weaknesses, but she’d found one of his as well, and she felt better knowing that she had leveled the playing field a little.

He looked down to watch once again and with his head bowed, the line of his back was exposed. Hermione stopped what she was doing when she found the tattoo she’d somehow missed before. Her hand trailed from the nape of his neck, down until she was running her fingertips over the jewel handle of a large sword that decorated the back of his left shoulder. There was an inscription down the long silver blade, but the words were unreadable from that angle. She was just wondering why he’d choose that symbol when she realized that this wasn’t just any sword--it was a knight’s sword. 

On their own accord, her fingers started moving between her legs again when she once again reeled with the knowledge of just how appealing the man in front of her was. Ron truly was a knight and she so desperately wanted him to be _her_ knight, even if it was under the cover of night in eerie silence.

She moaned. Her head fell back heavily as she started to respond to the image of Ron still kneeling in front of her and her own ministrations. She was so aroused that she was already tinkering on the edge when Ron stopped her by grabbing her wrist. Her eyes snapped open in complaint, instantly meeting his eyes that held her like magic. While looking at her unwaveringly, he brought her hand up and slowly sucked the two fingers she’d been touching herself with into his mouth. Warm, liquid pleasure poured over her and her knees gave out completely as she sagged against him.

She couldn’t stand anymore; she was too weak with lust to even attempt it at this point. She pulled him with her as she stepped backwards and fell heavily back against her bed. She was wanton and sprawled out in front of him and she couldn’t care less as her back arched up instantly. Ron gripped her hips and pulled her to the very edge of her mattress as he took her silent offering and once again sucked a taut nipple into his mouth, his actions as hungry and desperate as she felt. He moved over the to the other breast, giving it the same rough treatment as he teeth scrapped against the sensitive bud and then his hot mouth was moving lower, over her stomach, nipping at her hip bone. His hands slid behind her back, forcing her to arch even more upwards as he ravished her body, even going so far as to lick at the tiny white lines on her stomach and hips Philip had left her with.

Her fingers fisted tightly in his hair, and she pushed Ron’s head impatiently lower as she draped her legs over his shoulders, her feet locking together and pulling him closer. She heard his low moan, felt it vibrating against her stomach as he did what she wanted. His fingers were on her first, running over the line of her womanhood that was almost embarrassingly wet, and then his mouth was there, sucking hard on the tiny nub that was hidden between her folds.

Hermione went wild and it was a good thing she had braided her hair when she’d got out of the shower, or it’d be a tangled mess as her head thrashed against her white sheets. She knew her grip in Ron’s hair had to be painful, but she couldn’t stop herself as the most unbelievable pleasure speared through her body. She alternated between gasping out loud, and biting her lip when barely formed words tried to sneak out to encourage him.

It was too much, the fiery bliss was pulsing through her whole body, and one hand freed its death grip on Ron’s hair when she felt herself fall over the edge. She clamped her own hand over her mouth to stifle her screams, and she had to bit down hard on the base of her palm because her release was _that_ intense. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her, and her whole body shuddered with the force it.

When her climax subsided to tiny, fiery pulses, her tense body relaxed against the mattress, her arms falling heavily to her sides. That was far better than any Potion and her breath was still raspy as the sound of a zipper being lowered made its way through her murky senses.

Hermione lifted her head, opening her eyes lazily just as Ron stood up and tugged his jeans and pants past his hips. She whimpered at the image of him naked, aroused and so incredibly masculine as he kicked at his jeans, impatiently shaking one leg until they flew off and landed in the corner.

Ron turned back to her, looking almost predatory as his gaze ran hotly over her. He was panting, looking wild and completely desperate. He shook his head as though trying to gather his senses. “Hermione, I--”

She jumped up and clasped a hand over his mouth. Their eyes met again, and she slowly released her hold on his mouth, until only one finger trailed along his lower lip in much the same way he’d done to her. When he shuddered, she couldn’t help but smile a little. 

Hermione gasped when Ron reached out, gripping her face between his large palms and pulled her forward. He kissed her like a man processed, his tongue roughly finding it’s way past her parted lips. She gave a muffled moan when she realized that their roles had suddenly switched again. It was obvious that Ron was through with being submissive and that sent it’s own shocking thrill spiraling through her, rekindling the passion inside of her easily. 

Hermione fell back against the bed, and Ron crawled over her with predatory grace. She ran her hands up his arms, over his strong biceps, and then down his back, savoring the feel of hard, sinewy muscles under her fingers. His breathing was still heavy, his eyes still burning into hers as he looked down at her, and she got the distinct impression that he was almost afraid to go any further. There was no explanation for it, but the anger and hurt between them had somehow welled up into this unimaginable passion. It scared her too, but maybe not for same reasons. 

Her fingers ran upwards until they were brushing against the tiny hairs at the back of his neck, and Ron shuddered again. It wasn’t even an effort to bring his mouth back down to hers. She accepted him willingly as his tongue once again swept into her mouth, and he finally lowered himself over her. They moaned into each other’s mouths when the full length of their naked bodies touched, her breasts crushing against his chest, her smooth thighs brushing tantalizingly against his hips as she wrapped her legs around him. 

Still he hesitated, and Hermione was already so far gone with need for him that she broke the code of silence, shattering the last bits of her pride. 

“Please,” she begged, needing him to fill her. Her body--still so sensitive from her first climax--was literally throbbing for him. No sooner had the words left her mouth then Ron was pushing into her and fiery pleasure rippled over her, nearly stealing her breath. Hermione’s head fell back heavily as she gasped from the intensity of it. “Oh—Oh God, Ron!”

Ron’s mouth crushed against hers, stealing the rest of her words as his hips surged forward and he buried himself deeply inside her. She swallowed his low moan as she gripped at his arms, her fingernails digging into the muscled flesh. Ron’s tongue mimicked his body as it swept into her mouth, pulled out and then pushed in again. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding his mouth to hers as her hips pushed up to met his. Everywhere that his skin met hers set Hermione on fire and she shocked both of them by climaxing again. Her mouth finally broke away from his when her head tossed back. Small gasps escaped her with every push of his body into hers as throbbing jolts of bliss radiated out from her center and flowed into her limps. 

Hermione was still shuddering from the pleasure that was pulsing through her when Ron clasped her tightly to him and flipped onto his back, reversing their positions. He brought his knees up behind her, and she sat up and leaned against them as she tried to gain her breath back. 

Her eyes were still closed in sated bliss, and her head fell back lazily when Ron’s thumb fanned over the tip of one breast. Her skin was incredibly sensitive after two intense orgasms, and her nipple tightened almost instantly as another pulse of pleasure zinged through her body, going directly to her center, causing her to clench around him involuntarily. 

She opened her eyes lazily, looking down at Ron through heavily lidded eyes when he moaned. He was staring up at her in a mixture of hunger and awe. If only he could always stare at her in that way, as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world. 

His hand trailed between the valley of her breasts, over her stomach and then gripped her hip. He pulled her tightly to him as his hips thrust up in a counter action that created a totally different type of friction that sent new ripples of pleasure through her body. 

Feeling languid and lazy, her eyes closed and her head rolled back again. She used the support of Ron’s legs behind her to rest against as he continued to pull her hips forward with one hand, his hips still thrusting upwards into her causing the most decadent waves of ecstasy to roll over her. 

“Mmm, so good,” she moaned, being far too gone and sated to care about the stupid game they’d been playing. She didn’t know if it was the position they were in, or the fact that she was so bloody relaxed and sensitive after her previous climaxes, but she was really enjoying his slow movements into her. “I like it like this.”

“Me too,” Ron groaned, pulling her against him again to emphasis his words. “You’re fucking gorgeous over me.”

Her eyes opened to look down at him, a surprised smile tugging at her lips. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

“I never said that you weren’t beautiful,” he said, still looking up at her with a darkened, lust-clouded gaze. “Never.”

Hermione fell over him then, her hand resting on the comforter by his head. She moved her hips, taking him deeper, making the friction between their bodies almost unbearably intense as they both moaned. She smiled again when Ron’s eyes rolled back and he arched into her. His head lulled to the side, his features etched in deep pleasure, making him look so very different from the cold, cynical man he’d been since he had arrived at her flat. 

“You’re beautiful to me too,” she whispered, still staring down at him and soaking in the memory of him so lost in the bliss of making love to her. 

She wanted to say more, to tell him that he always haunted her dreams, that just his presence was enough to make her want him, even when she was so hurt, but she stopped herself and leaned down to run her lips over the line of his throat that was exposed. 

“Fuck, Hermione,” Ron moaned, his head lolling farther to the side as she ran her tongue along his neck to the sensitive place behind his ear. “That feels good.”

His large palm was spread over her lower back, and he pushed her against him as he arched upwards, making her breath hiss out of her when he hit an extra sensitive place inside her. Their low moans filled the air, mingling together as they moved in a lazy, languid rhythm, slowly building the tension until they were both breathless and gasping with every tiny movement. 

Hermione buried her face against his neck, still nipping and sucking at the skin there, not caring if she left a mark as she felt herself rise to a precipice once more. 

“Touch yourself again,” Ron rasped, his voice so low that it sent shivers over Hermione’s body. “Let me watch you.”

Hermione sat up, gasping out loud as Ron gripped her hips once more, pulling her hard against him. He was just so large, both thick and long, stretching her and going so deep that she could feel him touching her cervix. The ache was so intense that it was almost painful, and despite her earlier climaxes, she found herself desperate for release as she leaned back, one hand resting against his thigh as the other slid between her wet curls.

She traced the line of his shaft at the point where his body joined hers, feeling him hard and wet from her, and savoring his low growl as a shiver ran over his body when she touched him. 

Hermione opened her eyes, feeling her own body shudder when she saw him staring at her through heavy lidded eyes, watching what her fingers were doing, being so captivated that he actually leaned up on one arm to see better. 

Knowing that she was turning him on, that she could so easily hold him rapt with her actions caused even more lust to wash over her. Conscious of what he really wanted to see, she raised her fingers higher and started rubbing against the sensitive nub between her folds. 

Ron was always in her mind when she did this to herself on all those lonely nights over the past many years, but having him beneath her, watching her while he was buried deeply inside her made the act a thousand times more passionate and her eyes squeezed closed on their own accord. Her head fell back as she rocked over him, touching herself, the dual stimulation causing her to moan out loud. 

Fire spread through her again, making her gasp out his name when he roughly pulled her hips against him, thrusting up into her faster. Pleasure was still pulsing through her system, but she opened her eyes anyway when Ron tensed beneath her, his back arching up as his body shuddered. 

“God, Hermione,” he rasped through clenched teeth.

Ron would never know how lovely he looked to her at that moment, with his face etched in pleasure; his eyes squeezed shut as his head fell heavily back against her comforter. Even if Ron hated her again in the morning, and Hermione knew he probably would, she felt the moment being burned into her brain, saving it in the secret place that was just for Ron. With her life being the way it was, memories were everything to her and this one was particularly special. 

She felt tears sting her eyes as she fell over him, breathless and sweaty, feeling too sated to bother to get up and go to the loo. Ron’s hand ran slowly over from her shoulder down to the curve of her naked back. It was a sweet caress, one from a man who had always meant so much more to her than a simple lover. She had to bite her lip to stop the sob that was trapped in the back of her throat, and she reached up to wipe at the stray tear before it hit his bare shoulder. 

Ron was still grasping for breath, and he shifted under her. She rolled off him knowing that he probably wanted space to breathe. Her eyes were still watery, and she was feeling so emotional that she turned from him, curling on her side and looking out her window as she listened to Ron’s breathing fall back to a normal pace. 

When he got up to go to the loo, Hermione grabbed her wand off her nightstand and performed a cleaning charm on herself. She pulled her nightdress and knickers back on, and was curled back under the covers when he came out of the bathroom. She heard him pull on his pants and didn’t turn back to look at him until he cleared his throat. 

“I’ll just go,” he said hesitantly as he stared down at her, looking so handsome wearing only his shorts.

Hermione was silent as she used more strength than she knew she had to stop herself from crying at the thought of him going back and sleeping on the couch after what they shared. 

Obviously taking her silence as some sort of conformation, he turned to leave, showing off the sword tattooed on his shoulder, his back stiff and proud once more. 

“Wait,” Hermione said, deciding that she might as well stick with the theme of shattering her pride for the rest of the evening. “There’s no need for you to sleep on the couch. I know it’s uncomfortable for you. Y-you could sleep here.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” he said, his back still facing her. 

“There’s plenty of room,” she went on, knowing that her heart simply wouldn’t be able to bear him walking away from her. “I’m a real quiet sleeper. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He turned, meeting her eyes from one long second before he picked up the clothes that he’d tossed aside so carelessly earlier. Hermione held her breath, thinking that he was still going to walk away despite her offer, but he surprised her by draping his jeans and shirt over the chair by her vanity and then pulling back her comforter. Hermione moved over and breathed a sigh of relief as he crawled into bed with her. 

He didn’t hold her. They each slept on their respective side of the bed. The wall was up once more, but Hermione couldn’t find it in her heart to be too upset about it. She stared out her window as she listened to Ron’s breathing fall into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. 

He was there with her. . . For now it was enough.


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione woke slowly, feeling sated and lazy as she rolled over in bed. Her body ached a little, but it felt so good for some odd reason. Not wanting to open her eyes, she hugged the pillow close to her body, snuggling into it. It had been ages since she had had a decent night sleep. She could have easily drifted back to sleep if the sounds of someone rattling in her bathroom hadn’t disturbed her. 

 

Motherly instincts won out. Concerned Philip was into something he shouldn’t be; Hermione sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she turned to look towards the open door to her bathroom. 

 

The night before rushed back at her when she saw that it wasn’t Philip making noise, but Ron. Hermione tilted her head, not sure if she was seeing things properly. He had taken everything out from the cabinet under her sink, creating a rather large mess, but he didn’t seem to notice as he lay sprawled on his back, his upper torso hidden by the cabinet. 

 

Hermione rolled out of bed, too curious to bother with a dressing gown. She looked down at Ron’s bare chest, hearing softly muttered curse words drifting out from inside the cabinet and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

 

“What on earth are you doing?”

 

Ron jerked, obviously startled and then let out another string of curse words, this time much louder. She had heard the distinct thump of Ron’s head connecting with something and leaned down to peer under the sink. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Ron frowned at her, his hand clamped over his forehead. “No, you scared the shit out of me. I hit my head!”

 

Hermione couldn’t help it and she started laughing again. “For an Auror, you sure do scare easy.”

 

“It’s because I’m an Auror that I scare easy. Don’t sneak up on me!” Ron said, and then pulled his hand away from his forehead and Hermione screamed. 

 

“Oh my God, Ron! You’re bleeding!”

 

He rolled his eyes as his hand went back to his forehead. “You think?”

 

“Get out from under there,” Hermione said, grabbing his hand and tugging. “What are you doing under my sink anyway?”

 

“I can’t get out until you move.”

 

“Oh, right,” Hermione said as she straightened up and stepped aside. 

 

Ron slid out from under the sink, which was a little awkward when he was holding his forehead. In the light of the bathroom, Ron was a mess. The blood was running down his face, and Hermione grabbed a towel, shoving it at him as she pulled him over to the toilet, making him sit down and then dashed out of the bathroom to grab her wand off her nightstand. 

 

Wasn’t it just their luck that Philip should come wandering in. “Mummy scream?”

 

Hermione sighed. “It’s fine, baby. Go play.”

 

Philip, as usual, wasn’t listening and walked into the bathroom, obviously looking for Ron. He gasped, “Oh, no. . .Red! Red, Mummy! Blood!”

 

“He’s fine,” Hermione said, gripping Philip shoulders to get him out of the bedroom. “He just hit his head. Mummy’s going to fix it right now.”

 

“Hurt?” Philip asked Ron, not to be distracted as he wiggled out of Hermione’s grasp and walked into the bathroom, tilting his head to peer at his father, who now had the towel pressed to the wound. 

 

“A bit, yeah,” Ron said, giving him a strained smile. “But I’m sure your mum will fix it.”

 

“She kisses it for you,” Philip said sincerely, still looking at Ron in concern. “That makes it better.”

 

“Yeah?” Ron said, his smile turning genuine. “Remind her to do that then, will you?”

 

“Mummy you kiss it, oui?” 

 

“Sure,” Hermione said, and then forced Philip out of the bathroom. “Go watch the telly. We’ll be out in a second.”

 

When he left, Ron arched an eyebrow at her. “I think you’re bad for my health.”

 

“Shut up, Ron,” Hermione said, feeling very flustered as she pulled the towel away from his forehead and immediately cast a spell to still the bleeding so she could look at the cut. “Oh, it’s not that bad. I expected your whole forehead to be spilt open with all this blood.”

 

“It feels like my whole forehead _is_ split open. I was having a decent morning until now.”

 

“Stop being a baby,” she said, and then cast a spell to heal the cut. “See, better.”

 

“I still have a headache.” 

 

“I’ll give you an aspirin.” Hermione took the towel from him and went to the sink to wet it.

 

“A what?” Ron had been inspecting his forehead, but suddenly gasped as Hermione stood there soaking the towel to clean up his face a little. “Don’t do that!”

 

“Why?” Hermione said, flipping the sink off instantly.

 

“The pipe’s open,” Ron said, falling to his knees and looking back under the sink. “Bugger!” He shifted through the mess of things under the sink, obviously looking for his wand as water flooded out from under the sink onto the floor. “Damnit, Hermione, cast a Drying Charm. This water is going to ruin all your shit.”

 

“Will you watch your mouth? You can’t talk like that in my home. What if Philip hears you?”

 

Ron glanced up from where he was crouched on his hands and knees, giving her an annoyed look. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

“No, I’m absolutely serious. You need to learn to curb your outbursts.”

 

“Okay, first, he can’t hear me because he’s in the other room,” Ron said slowly, sounding decidedly irritated. “Second, while you’re lecturing me all your stuff is being ruined.” 

 

As if to prove his point, Ron reached down, lifting up a box next to him that was now dripping wet. He held it up at evidence to her. “See!” he said, and then looked in the box, pulling a confused face. Hermione felt her own face burn as he pulled out a soggy tampon that was enlarging at the top, pushing past the wrapper due to all the water. “What are these things?”

 

“It’s a Muggle thing,” Hermione said, taking the box from him and setting it on the toilet. “Why is the pipe to my sink open?”

 

“I was trying to fix it. I listened to it drip all night,” Ron said, making a move to reach for the box of tampons again. He was worse than Philip and Hermione smacked his hand in annoyance. He shrugged, turning back to her. “Your plumbing is weird.”

 

“What’s weird about it?”

 

“Where does the water come from?” Ron asked, tilting his head back to look at the box sitting on the toilet. “Come on, Hermione, tell me what those things are for. It’ll drive me crazy.”

 

“No! Drop it, Ron!” Hermione snapped, brushing stray curls that had escaped her braid out her face in annoyance. “And I get city water here.”

 

“The Muggles provide water for the whole city? Interesting,” Ron said, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck. “Where’s your water heater? I couldn’t find it.”

 

“I don’t have one. There’s one for the whole building. As to where it is, I don’t have the foggiest. What does my water heater have to do with the sink leaking?”

 

“Nothing, I guess. . . I just wanted to look at it.”

 

Hermione shook her head, deciding that she needed some tea before she even attempted to understand Ron this morning. She tossed the wet towel at him. “Clean yourself up. You’re a mess.”

 

Hermione was at the door to her bedroom when Ron called out to her. She turned around, arching a questioning eyebrow at him. “You forgot to kiss it,” he said, giving her a smug smile.

 

“Ugh!” Hermione groaned and then walked out of the bedroom. She was almost to the living room when something struck her. She stomped back to her bathroom, finding Ron exactly where she knew he would be, sitting on the toilet with an open box of tampons in his hands. He had torn the wrapper to one tampon open and was studying it intently. She grabbed it from him, putting it back in the box that she had also wrenched away from him. “I believe these are mine.”

 

“Tell me what they are,” Ron moaned, obviously tortured with the curiosity. “Please, Hermione.”

 

Hermione searched the box of soggy tampons, finding the instruction leaflet. It was written in French, but there were plenty of graphic pictures. She tossed it at him. “Figure it out!”

 

 

And thus Hermione’s day started with a ruined box of tampons, a flooded bathroom and a blood-soaked towel. It only seemed to go downhill from there. Neither she nor Ron acknowledged what had happened the night before, and the silence over it was slowly driving Hermione mad or perhaps it was just the man himself that was pushing her towards insanity. 

 

In one day Ron fixed the pipe under her sink, hung the shelves Hermione had stashed in Philip’s closet ages ago but had never bothered with putting up, fixed two holes in her walls that she had never even noticed were there and was now working on anchoring everything remotely heavy to the walls of her flat.  

 

He had also complained at her lack of supplies for home repair and worse, moaned constantly over the hazards in her house, which had really irritated Hermione. He had basically insinuated that she didn’t care for her son’s safety. 

 

She had wanted to tell Ron where he could stuff his safety, but instead Hermione had shut herself in the office, leaving Philip to Ron. She was fairly certain that safety inspector Weasley could handle their son as he continued to bounce off the walls, going from one project to another, most of which created messes that made Hermione twitch. 

 

It was late in the day when a knock sounded on the door, jerking Hermione out of her work. “What is it?”

 

“Whoa,” Harry said, opening her door and arching an eyebrow at her sharp voice. “What if I was Philip?”

 

“Oh, sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, closing her book and resting her forehead on her hand as she looked up at him. “I’m having a bad day.”

 

Harry closed the door to her office, and then sat in the chair across the desk facing her. “So what’d you do to Ron? He only fixes things when he’s stressed.”

 

“Oh, so this is normal behavior? I thought it was just a new plot of revenge to slowly drive me insane.” Hermione moaned. “Harry, take him somewhere. He keeps complaining about supplies. Get him out of the house. Go buy the bloody supplies. I don’t care if he tears my flat apart tomorrow, I just need a break from him today.”

 

Harry sighed, leaning back against the chair. “Cor, Hermione, I’d hate to leave you alone.”

 

Hermione slammed her hands down on the desk, growling at Harry. “I’m a grown woman, fully capable of taking care of myself and I’m sick and tired of you two treating me as though I’m incompetent. If you don’t get Ron out my house, I’m going to lose it, Harry! He has flooded my bathroom, put a hole in his head, gotten plaster of all over my carpet that no spell will remove, cast sticking charms so powerful that we’ll never be able dislodge the items he’s permanently sealed to walls and learned what tampons are for. I NEED A BREAK!”

 

“He learned what tampons are? Please tell me you’ll put that memory in a Pensieve for me, because I’d pay good money to see the look on his face,” Harry said, choking back a laugh. 

 

“Sod off, Harry. It’s not funny. I think I need a potion for my nerves.”

 

“Okay, I’ll take him out. We’ll go to Muggle store for supplies. He’ll love it.”

 

“Fine,” Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath. “Do you need money?”

 

“Nah, I’ll just put it on a credit card. He has no idea about the money conversion. I’ll tell him it’s all dirt cheap so he won’t whine about paying me back.”

 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, giving a sigh of relief. “Really, thank you, Harry. I do need a break, even if it’s just a little one.” 

 

“It’s no problem. . . We’ll take Philip with us.”

 

Hermione moaned. “Do you have to? I haven’t spent time with him all day. He’s been hanging on Ron while he destroys the flat. I think he’s fascinated with all the mess and chaos.”

 

“He is a Weasley,” Harry said, smirking. “Let me take Philip. I’ll never talk Ron into going otherwise. He won’t go if he thinks he’s abandoning his post.”

 

“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “Just keep an eye on him.”

 

“Always,” Harry said, winking at her as he opened the door to her office. “Enjoy the peace. Read a book, take a long bath, do whatever it is birds do to unwind.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Just go.”

 

Harry held up his hands in surrender. “I’m already gone.”


	18. Chapter 18

  
Author's notes: Well. . .This one was a beast to beta. . .So thanks as always to  
Seakays, Mrspadf00t, Jenorama, and Madam Minnie . . . Also, to  
MapleMahogany. . . Thanks for always being so quick and wonderful with your  
feedback when I need it.  
   
Also, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave reviews. They  
cheer me up and have gone a long way to motivate my muse. You all rock. I  
read and adore every one.  
   
Finally. . . For those of you who haven¹t seen it. . . Check out the movie  
trailer for More than Memories that Linda made. It¹s incredible! Go lookie  
and leave her feedback!  
   
http://youtube.com/watch?v=D0cjV41D_dQ

* * *

They were back to that place again. . . The place where they had ended up last night, where Philip was asleep, Harry was gone and the flat was empty save the two of them. The tension in the air was almost choking Ron because absolutely nothing had been said. No mention had been made that the two of them had fucked like mad, needy animals the night before and despite all their personal issues outside the bedroom, the experience had been incredible. Ron wasn’t so overcome to think that he had been the only one affected. Hermione’s reaction to their lovemaking had been just as extreme as his. He may have dropped the Quaffle on the first go around, but in her bedroom, Hermione had blossomed into an incredibly passionate, responsive woman with very little effort on Ron’s part.

He may not have actually said anything out loud, but the images and memories from the night before were haunting him. Especially now that Hermione had put Philip to sleep and try as he might, he just couldn’t get interested in the program on the fellyvision. Perhaps it was because Hermione was caught up in a boring show about some decorative, historic Church in France. Or maybe it was just because the bloody program was in French, so even it didn’t look boring, which it did, he still wouldn’t be able to understand it.

He sat at a chair by the kitchen table, glaring at Hermione who was doing an amazing job of ignoring him as she alternated between staring at the fellyvision and reading the book in her lap. Ron supposed he could read a book, but he didn’t have a book to read and he’d burn out his own eyes out before he asked Hermione for one.

Anyway, he knew that nothing would be able to distract him when his true problem was sitting quietly not a few metres away. Rationally he knew that making love to her last night was a huge mistake, but no matter how often he had tried to kick his own arse for being so damned weak, he couldn’t get the thought of her or what they had done together out of his head. He hated that he had been forced to bow down to her, that he had sacrificed his pride for her. He hated it even more that bowing down to her had turned him on in a way that he had never anticipated. Against every ounce of his better judgement, he was even considering doing it again. The moment she had pushed the straps of her nightdress off the night before and he was suddenly looking up at her near naked in nothing but a pair of simple white knickers had been one of the most erotic moments of his life.

She had kept his child from him, for Christ’s sake. She had hurt him in ways he hadn’t imagined he could hurt. She was the very last person in the world that he honestly wanted to be sitting at a table, glaring at and silently thinking about. . . but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

Hermione wasn’t just incredibly beautiful. She was also amazingly passionate and shockingly uninhibited. She was by far the most responsive lover he had ever had. Neither his cock, nor his mind really cared that she had broken his heart or hurt his pride. Fuck if he wasn’t hard and wanting her and secretly thinking of ways to get her naked and begging again.

But, pride was a terrible thing and Ron suffered from huge doses of it. He wasn’t going to sacrifice it for her again, not when she was the one who had hurt him. He wanted her, but pride was winning the battle between cock and heart. He had gone three years without sex and it hadn’t killed him. He was stronger than that. He knew it in his bones even if the rest of his body was arguing otherwise.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, standing up and making the decision that tonight he would have to just do without.

“I’ll alert the media,” Hermione said, not looking up from the book she was reading.

Ron bit back a retort as her sarcasm finalized his decision. His hand would have to do for tonight and if that didn’t work he still had a perfectly good bottle of Fire Whiskey. He knew from experience it could almost kill the memories of Hermione if he consumed enough of it. He didn’t have five brothers for nothing, Ron knew more than a few hangover charms that he was more than willing to use in the morning.

He grabbed his bag, deciding that he’d go through it in the loo because he couldn’t stand being in the same room with Hermione for one more second.

Needing even more space from her, Ron chose to shower in the second bathroom, the one that was decorated to Philip’s tastes. A clear shower curtain hung across the half shower, half bath that was covered in little dragons. The creatures didn’t move and Ron had the thought that tomorrow he could charm the dragons individually to fly around the clear curtain, knowing that Philip would be amused by it.

Silently thanking himself for packing soap and shampoo, because he didn’t feel like using the baby soap that smelled like Philip to wank with, he quickly undressed and got into the shower.

Wanking was a much better idea, because the hot water did a lot to ease the tension in his shoulders and back. He felt a little too beaten tonight to beg for sex from a woman with a razor tongue that had always been able cut him a little deeper than anyone else’s. A nasty, vindictive woman who thought so little of him that she hadn’t even bothered to tell him he had a child. The more attached he got to Philip, the more hurt he became by the fact that there were three years of his life that Ron had missed. Three years that he could never get back and there was just no way he could forgive Hermione for that. There were times over the last few days when he even questioned his determination to marry her, but he wanted to be in Philip’s life and he was willing to marry Hermione to ensure that he was.

Yet, even as he berated Hermione, calling her things in his head that he would never say out loud, he thought of her as the hand that had quickly and efficiently washed his body slid down to his cock. He even wished he was strong enough to think of someone else, just because he was feeling that angry at her. It was the image of Hermione’s head thrashing on the bed and her fingers tangled in his hair that came to the forefront of his conscience as he stroked himself. He let his head fall back, feeling the hot water run down his chest and then lower, reminding him of the hot feel of her body when he thrust inside her. In his mind he heard her voice, the quiet whisper of, “please,” that she had rasped the night before, wanting him, begging for him to take her. He remembered the sound of his name on her lips when she climaxed and just that thought was enough to have him teetering on the edge. He had been wanting her and thinking of her all day and he hadn’t realized how very desperate he was until now.

He may have come right then, biting his lip to keep from crying out her name, if the door to the bathroom hadn’t suddenly burst open.

“I’ve come to a conclusion.”

His free hand shot out against the shower wall to keep himself from falling and his head jerked in the direction of the open bathroom door. Hermione was standing there with her hand on her hip. It was then Ron realized that the little dragons didn’t hide that much. Hermione’s attention and desire to speak with him had obviously scattered when she stared down at the hand that was wrapped around his very hard cock.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” he snapped, feeling his face and neck instantly flush red. He let go of his cock although he really didn’t know why because Hermione was far from stupid and it was obvious she knew he’d been wanking.

“I didn’t think you had anything I hadn’t seen,” Hermione said, her voice annoyingly rational. Yet it did take on a raspy sound when she looked him over once again, her gaze resting on his still hard cock. “Though, apparently I misjudged. Was I interrupting something?”

Ron had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before answering. He really hated that he had no real control over his body, especially when Hermione was standing there staring at him. What she said was true, it’s wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him hard before. Still, he was less than pleased to have been caught wanking; it really was the last thing he needed that night.

“What is that you want, Hermione?”

Her focus finally came to his face, for which Ron was infinitely thankful. Having her stare at him like that wasn’t helping anything.

She tilted her head, a smirk on her lips. “You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed about the wanking thing. I do it all the time. It’s an excellent way to relieve stress. There have been studies to show that it’s very healthy.”

Hearing that Hermione wanked all the time instantly affected Ron as a wave of lust washed over him at the idea of it. Seeing a woman touch herself had always been something that turned him on and hearing that Hermione did it all the time only added fuel to a fire he had been trying very hard to put out.

The insanity of the situation struck him and he laughed incredulously at her. “Are we really having this conversation?”

“I was just trying to make you feel more comfortable since it’s obvious you were embarrassed,” she said defensively, her hand back on her hip as she looked at him crossly. “Though, in all honesty, I wish you would have used my shower. I don’t think you should wank in the same tub I give Philip baths.”  
  
“Christ,” Ron rasped, running his fingers through his wet hair in frustration. “I know cleaning spells. It’s not like I would have left come all over the shower floor. Besides, this is a shower, usually things go down the drain unless there’s more about Muggle plumbing you haven’t told me about.”

“That’s disgusting, Ron,” Hermione said, pulling a face. “Do you have to be so blunt?”

“I think you were being blunt way before I was,” he pointed out, now past embarrassment and way into irritation. “What is it that you came in here for?

“Well,” she said, a flush now rising on her cheeks, which made Ron curious because in his recent experience with her, there didn’t seem to be much that embarrassed her. She had grown to be shockingly open, at least with him anyway. The thought crossed his mind that he hoped it was only with him, which he resented her for. “I was thinking about everything. . . I mean, you do remember that we had sex last night?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I remember something like that happening.”

“I guess that’s a start. I was starting to think you had forgotten considering you haven’t even acknowledged it.”

“You haven’t been talking about it either, princess. . . So I wouldn’t be pointing fingers.”  
  
“Anyway, I was thinking that it’s obvious we share some sort of attraction,” Hermione went on, her voice matter of fact once more as though she was explaining the magical theory of Transfiguration rather than talking about their sex life while Ron stood there, still naked and still hard with the shower still running as he looked at her through a curtain decorated with little dragons. “Even if we’re angry with each other, it seems silly to keep ignoring it because I don’t think it’s going to go away. . . Were you thinking about me?”

“What?” Ron asked, finally pulling back the curtain to see her more clearly.

“When you were wanking just now, were you thinking about me?” she asked, the flush back again, though not nearly as strongly as it should be in Ron’s opinion.

“I’m not telling you that!”

“Why not? It’s an honest question?”

“Do you think about me?” he shot back, arching an eyebrow at her. “Since you love wanking so much, do you think about me when you do it?”

“All the time,” she said without skipping a beat. “Do you want me to tell you what I think about?”

“No!” he snapped, really quite shocked that she had admitted she thought about him and more than a little turned on by it. Damn, if she wasn’t the most uninhibited woman he knew and she had the nerve to be giving him hell about being blunt.

“Why not?” she asked, sounding almost hurt.

“What is the point of all this? What do you want from me, Hermione?”

“I just had a theory that I wanted your opinion on,” she said, her face still flushed, which Ron was starting to think looked really becoming. “I think that this attraction isn’t going to go away and with us in such close proximity I think it’s making us more confrontational, which isn’t healthy for Philip. Maybe if we stopped ignoring it, we could get it out of our system and then deal with this situation more rationally.”

“You don’t just get it out of your system, Hermione,” Ron said, now being as honest as Hermione was obviously attempting to be at the moment. He knew for a fact that you couldn’t just shake an attraction like the one he had for Hermione. He had been trying to shake it for over a decade now. “It’s just there. . . Unfortunately, things like that don’t just go away.”

“But, you don’t know that. You’ve never attempted to get it out of your system.” Ron opened his mouth to argue that, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him. “Wanking doesn’t count. You and I have never really spent any time together sexually. We’ve only been together three times in all these years and even those experiences were brief. You’re here now and I think we’re both mature enough to put aside our differences to deal with this issue. We did it last night. There’s no reason why we can’t keep doing it until we can think more rationally.”

Ron was silent as he attempted to get over his shock at what Hermione was actually suggesting. “You’re saying that you want to fuck me?”

Hermione winced. “That’s really not a pleasant word, Ron, but, yes, that’s essentially what I’m suggesting.”

“Why?” he asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“We’ll never be able to deal with all these issues we’re having if we’re constantly at each other’s throats because all this lust and tension is making us cross. It’s not our only problem, but it doesn’t help.”

Ron shook his head, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Why not just get married if sex is what you want. We wouldn’t have to get it out of our system then. Married people get to do it all the time. I should have clarified that when I asked the last time.”

“Actually, I assumed that you had planned on finding sex elsewhere if we got married. You didn’t seem too thrilled with me when you asked in the kitchen. I thought you were suggesting a marriage of convenience.”

Ron gaped at her. “A marriage of convenience? What is that?”

Hermione looked equally confused, staring at him as though he were quite dim. “A marriage of convenience is an arrangement where two people get married in name only for whatever reason, in our case Philip was your reason. Even if they live together, they usually have sex with other people instead of each other.”

Assuming that this was another odd Muggle tradition, because Ron had never heard of such a thing. He shook his head, marveling that even though Hermione was a witch there was obviously lots of things she didn’t know about the wizarding world. “Love, if we got married it’d have to be a wizarding wedding considering we are magical and that’s the world we want Philip to be legitimate in. Those weddings don’t have a clause for a marriage of convenience. You don’t break wizarding wedding vows just like you don’t break any other magically binding vows or commitments. It’s extremely bad for your health. You irritate me sometimes, but I don’t think you’ll push me to suicide.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said, pulling a face. “I’ve been to plenty of wizarding weddings. I don’t remember any sort of magical vows or bindings like that taking place.”

“Well, obviously those are done before the wedding.It’s a bit private, yeah? Committing your body and soul to someone for eternity. You’re not going to do that in public unless you’re really kinky. You’re starting to make me wonder about actually, but even this you’d probably want to do alone considering the whole naked, sex part of it.”

Hermione gaped, her mouth dropping open. “They do the magical binding while having sex?”

“Well, yeah. . .Did you miss the part where I said it’s one of the perks of marriage?”

“When do they do the binding, if not at the actual wedding?” Hermione asked, sounding both curious and horrified.

“Usually the night before,” Ron said, shrugging as he tired to remember when his brothers had done their ceremonies. “Sometimes it’s done earlier, just depending on what’s going on with the wedding and when it’s convenient. Don’t you remember the part of Bill and Fleur’s wedding where they swore they had committed themselves body and soul? That’s what they were swearing to, that they had performed the ceremony and were bonded together. Why do you think they sign all that Ministry paperwork that’s charmed for honesty? If people were getting married for convenience, they would never be able to honestly sign the paperwork. How did you think I was going to sign that paperwork if I was planning on having sex with other people?”

“But,” Hermione said, shaking her head at him, obviously still in shock. “When you asked me to marry you we were hardly on speaking terms. Did you think I was going to have sex with you on a regular basis if I had agreed to marry you?”

“Honestly,” Ron sighed, feeling a bit tired of this conversation, especially when he was naked and Hermione was fully clothed leaving him feeling somewhat exposed. “No, I didn’t think you’d want to have sex with me. I knew that we would have to perform the ceremony, but I reckoned I’d have to get you pissed or something to get you through it. Of course, I assumed you knew about it and I had considered the possibility that not wanting to make a permanent sexual bond with me was part of the reason you didn’t agree.”

“So you would have married me and committed your body to me forever with the risk of death if you ever had sex with another woman while secretly thinking that you might rarely, if ever, have sex with me again just so that Philip would have your name?” Hermione whispered, sounding awed.

“It’s more than that. Despite what you think of me, I do want to be Philip’s father, and not just on weekends and holidays” Ron said, feeling hurt that she seemed so surprised by that admission. “Being married to a woman who didn’t want to share herself with me intimately isn’t my idea of a perfect life, far from it actually, but my son is worth that sacrifice. My offer of marriage is still open, with the added assurance that I wouldn’t have a problem fulfilling any of my vows to your body. In fact, it’s a bonus I hadn’t counted on.”

Hermione was silent, which was a good sign to Ron and for the first time since this whole nightmare, he felt a small beacon of hope light up inside him.

“You care for Philip that much?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Yes, I care for him that much,” Ron said, feeling insulted again, but he tried to hide it because he felt like Hermione’s resolve against marrying him might be weakening. He didn’t want to fuck that up.

Hermione nodded, tears in her eyes as she took a deep breath and then lowered her head. It was a long, breathless moment on Ron’s part before she sighed, and looked back up at him, her eyes still glassy. “Do you want company?”

Ron frowned, not fully understanding the question and certainly not expecting that response to what had been for all intents and purposes another proposal for marriage on his part. “Company for what?”

“Your shower?” Hermione said, the flush back, giving her cheeks a warm glow as she brushed a stray curl behind her ear and smiled at him shyly. “It was quite rude of me to walk in here without knocking, maybe I could help you finish what I interrupted. It’s the least I can do. ”

Ron’s body, which had calmed during the course of their conversation, instantly responded to her offer. Hermione didn’t miss that her words affected him as her eyes dropped down and she openly watched him get hard again. Obviously taking his physical reaction to her words as an offer, she reached out to touch him, but he grabbed her hand before she could.

“What I’d really like is an answer to my other question,” Ron said seriously. “Will you marry me?”

“That’s a big decision, even bigger than I had originally assumed considering there is now the fact that marriage in the wizarding world is truly a lifetime commitment, one that can’t be broken if we find out that living together is something we’re not able to manage,” Hermione said as she gently freed her hand from his and looked at him seriously. “We were friends once, but we really don’t know each other anymore and there is a lot of pain and hurt that we both admit is going to be hard to forgive and even harder to forget.”

“So you’re saying, no,” Ron rasped, his heart aching more than he would ever admit, but it still made his voice cold and harsh as he spoke.

“I didn’t say no,” Hermione snapped defensively. “I said it’s a big decision and it’s not one I’m just going to make on a whim. Marriage isn’t just sharing your name with me and having sex when we feel like it. It means I’ll have to spend the rest of my life with you, that we’ll have to live together and be together forever and I’m not going to agree to that when I don’t even know you anymore. You’ve made it pretty clear that you can’t love me. If I’m going to agree to marry you under those conditions then I need to know that we’ll at least be compatible and right now, with the small exception of last night, you haven’t given me a whole lot of confidence in that. I know that I hurt you and I’m sorry for that and you have to believe me when I say that I am trying. Give us time, Ron. Let’s see if we can live together and not be at each other’s throats constantly because I honestly don’t think that it’s healthy for Philip and it’s certainly not healthy for me, or for you if you were being honest with yourself. I’m not opposed to us being a family, but I want us to be a happy family so we’re going to have to find a middle ground, a place where you and I can at least get along. Right now it seems the only starting place we have is the attraction that we’ve both admitted to.”

Ron frowned, hating that her words made sense. ”So what are you saying? That you’ll think about it?”

“Yes, I’m saying that I’ll think about it. We’re stuck together right now, so we might as well use this time to see if we can find the middle ground I’ll need in order to agree to a loveless marriage,” Hermione snapped as she glared at him. “Now do you want me to join you in the shower or not?”  
  
Things felt awkward and contrived now, and he wasn’t totally certain he wanted Hermione to join him in the shower. He felt like he was suddenly being tested. Ron knew he had a tendancy to freeze on tests and this one felt way too hot to even consider failing.

“I dunno, it all feels weird now,” Ron said, pulling a face. Everything was so confusing to him, mixing sex up with somehow proving to Hermione that getting married was the right thing for them to do. His feelings and thoughts were scattered in a million different directions and he wasn’t sure that under these circumstances he would be able to make love to Hermione. Since so much was riding on their sex life. It seemed to be the one thing that had Hermione finally considering marrying him and it put a lot of pressure on him. Being able to truly be a father to Philip was suddenly the most important thing in the world to Ron. He didn’t want to do anything to fuck up his opportunity for that. He had already missed the first three years of his life; he owed it to Philip to do everything in his power to make sure that Hermione did agree to marry him. He wasn’t going to risk anything at this point, even if there was a part of him that was very responsive to the idea of Hermione joining him in the shower. Doing something wrong at this point wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. “I’m just feeling very confused right now. I don’t think I’m up to doing anything impressive if you did join me in the shower and I don’t want to make love to you and fuck it up like I did on the couch. My pride can only take so much abuse in one week.”

Hermione tilted her head, looking at him as though something had only just dawned on her. “Is that why you came back to my bedroom last night? You thought that you had somehow performed poorly the first time in the living room?”

“Well, yeah,” Ron said, giving a half laugh that she acted so surprised by that. “You weren’t too thrilled with me when you stomped off to take a shower.”

“I was angry because you cast that Contraception Charm. I’m still not thrilled about it, to be honest, but the sex, I enjoyed very much until your bad attitude got in the way.”

Ron gaped. “But, you didn’t. . .” he raised his hand lamely, finding that his face and the back of his neck was burning again. “Well. . .you know. . .”  
  
“Have an orgasm?” Hermione asked, a smirk play on her lips.

“Yeah.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it,” she said, shaking her head at him and speaking as though he were a small child. “I didn’t have to climax in order to enjoy being with you. It was more to me than just that.”

“Whatever,” Ron said, rolling his, really not believing her, though there was a side of him that was somewhat touched by the fact that she was trying to salvage his tattered ego. “I’m just saying maybe we should wait until I’m feeling a bit better. I don’t perform well under pressure and I’m suddenly feeling a lot of it where this is concerned.”

“I thought Aurors were supposed to be at their best under pressure?” Hermione challenged, her smirk back.

“With work and fighting and those sort of things, yeah. . .I do alright under pressure. . .But this is relationship stuff. I can fuck that up on a good day. Like you said a long time ago, I have the emotional range of a teaspoon. It’s not my area of expertise and I have too much riding on this to just going into everything half cocked.”

Hermione’s smirk turned into a real smile. “I had forgotten that. I’m surprised that you remembered. It seems like eons ago that I said that.”

Ron shrugged. “Well, you remember things that make you feel like an arse.”

Hermione winced, looking at him sympathetically. She was quiet for a long while, as though contemplating everything before another bright smile lit her features, making her look so beautiful that Ron was surprised to feel his heart clench almost painfully inside his chest. She affected him so much that often Ron found the emotions scaring him and leaving him feeling even more confused.

“Let’s play a game,” she said brightly, sounding suddenly excited.

Ron laughed. “Thanks, but I’m not up for a game tonight.”

Hermione’s eyes dropped lower, and she arched an eyebrow at his cock that was still defiantly clinging to the notion of her joining him in the shower. “You certainly seem up for one.”

Bugger! Ron’s face and neck burned again and he marveled at the fact that she could often leave him feeling sixteen again. “He’s always up for one, but the rest of me isn’t.”

“I played your game last night when I thought I wasn’t up for it,” Hermione pointed out, her hand back on her hip, her voice sharp and bossy in a way that sort of turned Ron on. It reminded him of the way she had been in school, arguing that he and Harry should be doing their homework, or taking their own notes instead of copying off hers. “It’s only fair that you return that favor. . . Besides, I think you might like this game.”

Ron couldn’t help it. . .He was intrigued. “What sort of game is it?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’d ruin the surprise,” Hermione said tauntingly, her voice low and teasing in a way that was definitely sexy. “Get out of the shower and meet me in my bedroom.” When Ron opened his mouth to speak, Hermione covered his lips with her fingers. “I won’t take no for an answer. Get out and dry off.”


	19. Chapter 19

  
Author's notes:

My God, a long time in coming. . .I know. . .And no smut. . . Bad of me. . .But, I really didn’t want to put it in. . .I wanted that one to remain a fade to black. It was the reason I stalled so long, I couldn’t come up with the sex, because it didn’t feel right to be writing it to begin with. . .If that makes sense. . . HEH!

 

Thanks as always to my betas. . . Seakays, MrsPadfoot, Science Gnome, and princessbaby23. You guys are the best. . . Thank you SOOO much for al your hard work. 

 

And to everyone who has been following this story and reviewing. . .Wow, thank you! Sometimes I have days when I wonder why I still write fan fic, then I read your wonderful reviews and I know why. Thank you so much for all your support. 

 

I do have half of chapter 20 done. . .So I hope it won’t be near as long of a wait for the next chapter. . . Give my muse some cookies and pray he behaves!

* * *

Now way past intrigued and more than a bit turned on by Hermione’s bossy nature and determination, Ron stepped out of the shower and took the towel Hermione handed him. He made quick work of drying off, and then wrapped the towel around his waist, trying to ignore the fact that it was overly fluffy and light pink. 

“Should I get dressed?” he asked her when Hermione turned to walk out of the bathroom.

“I think it would be a wasted effort,” she said from the hallway. “But feel free if you really want to.”

Ron skipped the clothes, and followed Hermione into her room wearing only the pink towel. Hermione had pulled the chair from her vanity and had set it at the foot of her bed.

“Sit there.” She gestured to the chair, speaking very seriously, as though she were teaching a class. “Now there are specific rules to this game that have to be followed.”

“Okay,” Ron said hesitantly, sitting on the chair as told and arching an eyebrow at her. “What are the rules?”

“You can talk,” she explained as she stood somewhat demurely in the small space between the chair and the bed, her body close enough that he could smell her floral perfume. “But you can’t touch.”

“I can’t touch you?” Ron asked, feeling a bit baffled. “What sorta game is that?”

“Or yourself,” she went on, still looking very haughty. The flush to her cheeks had come back with a vengeance. “No touching of any sort. . . until I say so.”

Ron laughed at her. He didn’t want to ruin Hermione’s game, but he really couldn’t help himself. “Should I call you mistress?”

Hermione frowned. “Why would you do that? Do you have some sort of teacher fetish?”

Ron frowned back at her, until he realized that she would associate the word mistress with a Head Mistress of a school or something of the sort, which was sort of funny considering Ron’s association with that word was something entirely different. It was easy to forget that Hermione was still rather naïve when it came to sex considering she had been extremely bold and uninhibited every time they had been together. Even their first time, it had been Hermione who had made the first move, she who had insisted that Ron make love to her.

Ron knew now that her boldness was more the case of a headstrong, confident woman used to getting what she worked for, rather than someone who was overly world wise and savvy when it came to men and sex. He had been with women who knew the power they had held over men and had used it to their advantage. Hermione’s innocent honesty and boldness had always appealed to Ron much more than cunning experience. He hoped she never lost that.

“Forget it,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “I’m starting to think that you’re developing some sort of control fetish.”

She grinned impishly. “I think you might be right,” she said, and then frowned, looking suddenly nervous as though a thought had just occurred to her. “Is that bad?”

Ron shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. Why do you think I dropped to my knees last night? I needed you to play along and there’s nothing Hermione Granger loves more than being bossy and in control.”

“My aren’t we cunning?” Hermione said coyly. “For someone who seemed somewhat insecure about his ability to perform back in the shower you’re certainly acting smug now.”

“I wasn’t insecure,” Ron said defensively, though in reality he knew she was absolutely right. “Are you going to start this game or not? We do have a time restraint. The sun will rise eventually and I don’t want to be sitting here in a pink towel when it does.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Hermione said, turning around and going to her bedroom door. She pulled it closed, flipped the lock on it, and then pulled out her wand and cast a spell on the door. What spell it was, Ron didn’t know because she did it wordlessly. “Silencing spell,” she said when Ron quirked a curious eyebrow at her. “Just in case Philip wakes up.”

Ron didn’t like the idea of a Silencing spell even if he was a bit turned on by the idea that Hermione thought it was needed. “What if something happens outside the room? We won’t be able to hear it.”

“It’s just one way,” Hermione said, her voice heavy with annoyance. “We’ll still be able to hear if the Death Eaters suddenly decide to launch a full scale attack.”

“That’s really not something I’d joke about,” Ron said seriously.

“Being Aurors has made you and Harry paranoid beyond compare,” she said, sounding somewhat concerned. “There are days when I think Harry could benefit from years of therapy and more than a few doses of anti-anxiety potion. I’ve come to realize that you aren’t far behind him.”

“Ever stop to think that there are reasons we’re so paranoid?” Ron asked her. “We’ve seen shit that even the strongest dose of anti-anxiety potion couldn’t help us with. If you’d seen what a full scale Death Eater attack could cause, you wouldn’t be talking about it--even sarcastically.”

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “Let’s drop it. Like you said, we do have a time restraint.”

“Sounds good,” Ron said, feeling more than a little frustrated for a multitude of reasons. “Because I’m starting to feel like I need a cigarette.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you, and I hate that Philip sees you and Harry smoking. Studies show that children of smokers--”

“The game, Hermione,” Ron said, gesturing to her. “Or I’m going to need whiskey to go with the cigarette. You’re driving me mad here.”

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t lecture you.” She held up her hands and then as after thought added, “not right now anyway.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Okay.” Hermione took a deep breath. “You remember the rules?”

“I’m not daft. There were only two. Talking’s okay, but no touching of any sort. I got it.”

Hermione stiffened. “You know, you really aren’t making this easy.”

“How so? I’m sitting here rapt and waiting, love,” Ron said, unable to hide his smirk as he slouched in the chair and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“I’m not nervous,” she said defensively.

“Good, ‘cause there’s no need. Trust me when I say there’s nothing you got that isn’t already firmly committed to my memory.”

“Think of it often, do you?” Hermione asked tauntingly as she started unbuttoning her blouse.

“Only when breathing,” Ron said, his own voice a bit husky because he could see the edges of Hermione’s bra as she slowly pulled open her blouse with each undone button.

A small smile appeared on her lips, and she seemed to find the courage she had been lacking before as she tossed her blouse aside. Almost on reflex, Ron reached out and caught it before it hit the floor.

He held it to his face, inhaling her scent because it brought back so many memories. She still wore the same perfume she had used in school. It was one that was oddly familiar for more than just the reason that she wore it and he associated it with her, but he couldn’t place why the scent always tugged at his heart a little.

“You’re strange, Ron.”

“I know,” he said, dropping the blouse to his lap. “I like the way you smell; can’t help it.”

“Are you going to smell my knickers too?” she asked as she unzipped her conservative black skirt.

“The thought isn’t totally unappealing,” Ron said honestly. “Why, would you let me?”

“No,” Hermione said, laughing at him.

“Then I guess I’m not,” Ron said, not sounding too disappointed because Hermione’s skirt fell to the floor, leaving him otherwise occupied. He noticed that her knickers and bra matched, and they were both made of black lace. He had never seen Hermione in anything but simple, white, cotton underwear, and the lingerie and the intent behind them aroused him more than he had ever thought possible He gestured to her attire, waving his hand from her bra to her knickers and arching an eyebrow at her. “Nice. Did you wear those for me or were you just feeling kinky this morning?”

“Perhaps a bit a both,” Hermione responded, that smirk of hers back.

Ron’s eyebrows went up. “You thought I was going to be seeing your knickers?”

“I don’t think I was out of place in thinking that considering what happened last night. Are you going to tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind?”

Only every second since he had woken up that morning, but Ron wasn’t going to let her know that. “It might have--once or twice.”

Hermione looked down at herself, as though unsure of her choice in undergarments. “Do really like them?”

“Very much,” Ron said honestly. “And knowing that you put them on with the thought that I might see them appeals to me.”

“Do you want me to leave them on or take them off?”

Ron leaned forward, starting to like this game. He studied her closely, making her a bit nervous, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. The bra was cut in a way that lifted Hermione’s breasts, making them almost spill over the lacy edges. Her knickers were cut high, much higher than anything else he had seen her in, and they showed off her shapely thighs, making her legs seem longer.

“Leave them on,” he said, still considering the proposition. Seeing Hermione completely naked wasn’t without merit, but he did like the underwear. He didn’t get to see something so openly sexy as far as clothing was concerned with Hermione, because she always dressed towards the conservative. “Yeah, definitely leave them on.” Then as afterthought he added, “for now.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good,” Ron said, hoping to move the game forward.

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes avoiding his as she looked at the ceiling, the dresser, the bed, her fingers tapping against her thighs. “Right, good.”

Ron waited, tilting his head and studying Hermione as her eyes darted around room, looking everywhere but directly at him. When the silence started to get unnerving he asked, “Are we still playing?”

“I’m working up my nerve!” she snapped at him. “Give me a second.”

“Fine,” he sighed.

He waited a lot longer than a second. In fact, it felt like several minutes and he couldn’t help but look at his watch as a distraction. He wasn’t as twitchy as Harry, but silence and sitting still had never been his strong suit.

“Don’t do that!”

“What?” he said, turning his attention back to her. “What’d I do?”

“You looked at your watch!” she said, her hands on her hips.

“Was that against the rules?” he asked, unable to hide a smile. “I don’t think it was. I remember the rules, seeing as there were only two.”

“You’re making me nervous shifting in your seat like that!”

Ron sighed, his head falling back in frustration as he talked at the ceiling. “Hermione, I’ll be honest, you need to work on your game strategy a little.”

 She huffed. “You’re being difficult.”

“Yeah, I’m being difficult,” he said, still looking at the ceiling. He lifted his head, sighing in exasperation. “Do you wanna just skip the game and do it?”

“Oh, that’s lovely, Ron,” Hermione said, looking at him incredulously. “Casanova has nothing on you.”

Ron pulled a face. “Who’s Casanova?”

“Forget it!” Hermione said, her hands still on her hips. “You’re about as romantic as a flobberworm!”

“I’m just following your rules,” he snapped, frustration making his voice more than a little sharp. “This is your game, Hermione.”

“I said you could talk. You could try saying something romantic. It wouldn’t kill you.”

Ron laughed. “Something romantic? Yeah, okay? Um. . .” He held up his hand when he came up with nothing. Still laughing he grasped at straws. “How ‘bout a poem?”

“Yes,” Hermione said in surprise, straightening up expectantly. She stared at him, looking as prim as could be in her black lace bra and knickers. “Let’s hear it.”

Ron couldn’t help it, he doubled over with laughter. “Oh Christ, she thinks I know a love poem?” He tried gaining his breath, but failed hopelessly.  He lifted his head, totally hysterical. “You’re mental.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, giving out a huff of frustration. “You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

Ron fell off his chair, choking. “A-a love poem—a-and you thought I was s-serious.”

“This is starting to irritate me, Ronald,” Hermione said, glaring down at him. “It really is.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed. “Really, I am,” he gasped, clutching at his stomach as he lifted his head to look at her. “Maybe you need a bloke like Gildroy Lockhart. I bet he knew loads of love poems.”

Hermione gasped. “You did not just say that!”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I did,” he said, and then rolled again in hysterics. “R-remember your schedule with the hearts. Oh, God!”

It was too much for Ron. It must have been the stress of the last few days, because he lost it. To say Hermione was less than pleased with his sense of humour was an understatement.

She pounced on him like an angry tiger, smacking at his shoulders. “You just ruined my whole game!”

“There was no game,” he said, still laughing and trying to deflect her blows because she was hitting with intent. “Come on—a poem. That’s funny as shit.”

“Don’t swear! This is my home. There-is-no-vulgarity-allowed,” she said, still hitting at his chest and arms to punctuate each word.

“You’re fucking killing me!” he crackled, giving up on protecting himself from her wrath. “Umph! Christ, you pack a punch!”

She punched him harder at that and then fell onto the ground next to him, breathing hard. “I’m mad at you,” she rasped, turning her head to glare at him. “I am really furious, Ronald.”

“I know. I got the marks to prove it,” he said, turning to her and grinning. She returned his smile with a death glare. “Come on, it’s a little funny.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, turning her head away.

He rolled onto his side, leaning over to see her face. “I think you’re smiling.”

“Get off me,” she said, shoving him away. “It is in no way funny, not in the least.”

Ron cracked again, choking again as he tried to hold the laughter back. “Come on, don’t be a stick in the mud,” he said, fingering a lock of her curly hair as a distraction. “Laugh with me, Hermione. I like your laugh.”

Hermione was silent for a second, before she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “You do?”

He nodded, studying her face. “Yeah, I do.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I suppose one could consider it a bit funny.”

“Yes, one could,” he said, laughing again. “I thought it was hilarious, but I’ve been one more drama away from St. Mungo’s all week, so my reaction probably shouldn’t be considered in your study.”

“You know, Ron,” Hermione said, rolling over and considering him. “You’re actually quite witty.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, shaking his head at her. “I’ve always been witty. I’m glad you finally noticed.”

She was still considering him. “Wit takes intelligence.”

“Does it now?”

“It does,” she said as she rolled onto her back and ran her finger down the crease between his eyes. “I think you’re actually a very smart man, did you know that?”

“Wow,” he said, unable to stop himself from grinning down at her. “Wit and intelligence, but you still won’t marry me. What more could a girl want?”

“Love,” she whispered.

Ron nodded as he let his hand drift from her hair to her cheek. “It’s a lot, Hermione. Wounds like this just don’t heal up that easy. What you did really hurt me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she rasped.

“I know,” he sighed. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. He was extremely tired. He had half a mind to just ask Hermione if she wanted to skip everything and go to sleep. “Sorry I ruined your game.”

Hermione laughed, which surprised him. “It’s okay. I’m just not the sexy, seductive type, I suppose.”

“I think you’re both sexy and seductive,” Ron said, opening his eyes to grin at her. “Very much so.”

Hermione beamed as she reached up to thread her fingers in his hair. She didn’t have to tug hard to bring his lips close to her, so close they were sharing the same air. “Let’s skip the game,” she breathed.

He studied her face, a grin forming on his lips. “I think that’s a brilliant plan.”

“I’m good at those,” she whispered, smiling back at him.

“Yeah, I know.”

Not wanting to go into it anymore than that, Ron leaned down and captured her lips with his.

~*~

Ron was in a good mood. He’d slept well, far better than he had the past several nights. He practically bounced out of bed, but was careful not to wake Hermione, because she needed sleep. He knew she had had as many sleepless nights as him, and he didn’t like the dark circles under her eyes.

He had the thought that it’d be nice to cook breakfast, because he was more than a fair cook if he didn’t say so himself, but Hermione’s stove scared him a little. Her coffee maker did too, so he settled for making tea and having some biscuits that he found in her pantry.

Philip wasn’t up yet, so Ron sat outside drinking his tea, smoking a cigarette and for once, not worrying over everything. He should have known it was all too good to last

He knew the owl before it landed, a big, beautiful snowy male owl that had fathered more than a few babies with poor Hedwig. He watched him soar across the sky, flying effortlessly despite the long journey he had obviously completed.

“Hey, Romeo,” he said as the owl landed on the railing of Hermione’s balcony. “What’s up?”

In answer to the question, Romeo lifted his leg, showing off the letter attached. Ron groaned, but took the letter obediently. Like his owner, Romeo could get snippy if he thought you weren’t paying attention to him.

“My goodness!” Hermione said, opening the balcony door. “What a beautiful owl. I thought she was Hedwig for a second.”

Romeo ruffled his feathers, obviously insulted. He was a very vain owl, also much like his owner. “This is Romeo. Hedwig’s boyfriend of sorts.”

Hermione gasped. “I didn’t know Harry had a male snowy?”

Ron turned to her and grinned. “He doesn’t. This is Ginny’s owl and they’re two of a kind, both a pain in the arse. Ouch!”

Ron shook his hand, looking mournfully at the bite Romeo had delivered. “I’m bleeding, you little sh--”

“Serves you right!” Hermione said, as she tied her dressing gown closed and walked out onto the balcony. She leaned down to pet Romeo’s head. “My, but you are a big, strapping owl. Very handsome indeed.”

Ron rolled his eyes as Romeo basked in the attention. He sucked his finger for a second, still wincing over the bite. Then grabbed the letter off the table and walked inside. Philip was finally awake and he jumped up when he saw the owl outside.

“Birdie!” he chimed, running to the balcony door. “Big birdie!”

“He bites, mate,” Ron said, scooping him up before he could run onto the balcony. He held up his finger to Philip as evidence. “Look at that.”

“Oh,” Philip said, studying Ron’s finger with wide eyes as Ron shifted him to his other arm. “Bad birdie.”

“No kidding,” Ron said, pulling a face. “Look at him, he doesn’t even feel guilty.”

Philip turned to look out the glass doors at Romeo, who had his eyes closed in happiness as Hermione petted and cooed to him. “He doesn’t bite mummy.”

“That’s because Romeo likes women,” Ron said and chuckled. “Typical male, that’s what he is. He nearly took off your uncle Harry’s hand once. Didn’t even care that Harry was the one that bought him. He has eyes only for Aunt Ginny, that one.”

“Aunt Ginny!” Philip said, adoration thick in his voice. “Aunt Ginny today!”

“She’s got you too, huh?” Ron laughed.

“Ginny’s very likable, you have to know that, Ron,” Hermione said as she came in. “She’s so personable. You’re lucky to have such a sister.”

“Yeah,” Ron said dryly as he put Philip down and sat at the table to read his letter. “She can be a real pain too.”

“Aunt Ginny today!” Philip said, still stuck on the idea. “Play!”

“Oh, not today, sweetheart,” Hermione said as she walked into the kitchen and started digging through the cabinet. “I know I have some owl treats in here.”

Philip jumped up and ran into the kitchen behind Hermione. “I wanna feed the birdie!”

“Sure,” Hermione said, her voice bright. “We’ll get him some water, too.”

“Yay! Birdie!”

“He’s an owl. Can you say owl?” Hermione said in her best teacher voice.

“Owl!”

“Hibou.”

“Hibou!”

Ron looked up from his letter, frowning at Hermione. “Hibou?”

“Owl in French,” Hermione said, walking past him with a bowl of water.

Philip was at her heels, carrying a bag of owl treats chanting, “Owl. Hibou. Birdie. Oiseau. Owl.”

Ron just shook his head and continued to read. Hearing Philip’s excitement from outside, he shouted. “Don’t let that overgrown rat bite Philip!”

“He must be used to children. He’s being sweet,” Hermione assured him from the balcony. “How’s your finger?”

“Still bleeding.”

“Cast a healing charm on it before it scars.”

Ron tossed the letter aside and cast a healing charm on his finger. He sighed, leaning back in the chair as he ran both hands through his hair and then scrubbed at his face in frustration. Deciding not to think about the letter just yet, he got up and leaned against the open door, watching Philip feed Romeo one owl treat after another.

Hermione turned to Ron, smiling in genuine happiness. “He’s a beautiful owl, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said, returning her smile as he let his eyes run over her. The dark circles under her eyes were gone and she looked very fresh faced and radiant this morning, with her hair still wild from sleep and her cheeks rosy for the slight nip in the air. “The owl I could give or take.”

Hermione turned from him, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Her rosy cheeks got a shade pinker as she shrugged. “My hair is a mess.”

“I know,” Ron said and backed up when Hermione turned to him in mock outrage. “I had a lot of fun helping you tangle it.”

Hermione laughed. “You’re bad.”

“Only when you want me to be,” he countered.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the owl. She took a treat out of the bag Philip was holding.

“What was the letter about?” she asked as Romeo ate the treat out of her open hand. “Bad news?”

“You’re going to make him sick,” Ron said, tilting his head and watching Philip as he fed Romeo two treats at once. “Hell eat those things until he throws up. He doesn’t know his limits. Ginny keeps the treats hidden from the kids because she’s had to clean up owl sick more than a few times.”

“Ewwww!” Philip said, turning to him in horror.

“I know,” Ron said, pulling a disgusted face. “I’m not cleaning it up, are you?”

“Yuck!” Philip said, matching Ron’s horrified look with one of his own. “Mummy can clean!”

Hermione took the treat bag from Philip. “I think he’s had enough for now.”

“A wise decision,” Ron said, taking the bag from her. “If you show me how to work your stove, I’ll make breakfast.”

Hermione surprised him by saying, “That’d be nice.”

“Good deal,” Ron said as he closed the door behind Philip. “Because I’m starving.”

“You haven’t eaten very well since you got here,” Hermione observed. “I’m glad to hear you’ve gotten your appetite back.”

“With a vengeance,” he said, surprised at how true that was. Hermione was right, he hadn’t been eating that much. “I could eat a horse.”

“Then let’s teach you how to work the stove.”

Hermione’s stove wasn’t really that different once he got the hang of it. He actually liked it, and spent time studying the electric units as he made sausages and eggs. He wasn’t really sure how they heated without fire, but was fascinated nonetheless.

“Are you going to tell me what the letter said?” Hermione asked as she jumped up on the counter across from the stove and watched him cook.

Ron hesitated, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go home.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, and Ron was pleased to hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Just for the day,” he assured her. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”

“Really?”

Ron turned back to his cooking. “Yeah, I didn’t want to leave Philip behind.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, the hurt evident in her voice. “Well, you don’t need me for that.”

“I sorta do,” he said, turning to her again. “The twins got suspended from school. I can’t talk with Harry and deal with Philip at the same time.”

“Harry?”

“Harry and Hannah. The twins I mentioned before. Ginny’s twins,” Ron said, setting the pan down to run his hand through his hair once more. “Harry got suspended for fighting and Hannah refused to stay at school without him. So they sent them both home. Ginny is fit to be tied.”

“Why was he fighting?” Hermione asked, sounding sympathetic.

“Who knows?” Ron said, shaking his head. “This isn’t the first time he’s gotten suspended. I need to get home before Ginny chokes him with her bare hands. She swore she would if it happened again.”

“Why would they suspend him just for fighting,” Hermione asked, sounding baffled. “You and Harry got into fights in school and you never got suspended.”

“He pulled a knife on the kid.” Ron winced, hating to say it out loud. Hermione didn’t understand the trauma Harry had been through. Obviously, neither did Hogwarts. Harry carried a knife because sometimes that was the only way out of a bad situation. Ron carried a knife too and it had saved his life more than once. “I think that made them a little nervous. Knives kill people.”

Hermione nodded, before she whispered, “So do wands.”

“Very true,” Ron agreed.

“I’ll get Philip and myself ready,” Hermione said, jumping down off the counter. “We can eat breakfast before we go to the Ministry.”

Ron nodded and reached out to grab her arm as she walked past. “Thanks, Hermione.”

She smiled. “It’s no problem.”

“Still, I appreciate it,” he said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I know you probably have work to do; something more important than my family stuff.”

“It’s fine,” she said, standing on her toes to give him a quick kiss before she left the kitchen.

Ron touched his lips after she left. He realized then that she was softening his anger a little, because he couldn’t help but smile. 

~*~

Hermione shivered from the cold when the Portkey dropped them into a vast, snow-covered garden. She tilted her head up to look at the snow that was falling fast and furious. Then she turned her attention to the house that was far bigger than she had imagined. It looked majestic with its snow-covered roof and she found herself almost embarrassed that Ginny had seen her tiny flat.

“Snow!” Philip said, wiggling in Ron’s arms. “Play!”

Ron set him down in the snow, and Philip stuck his bare hands into the snow. “COLD! Cold, Daddy!”

“We should have put mittens on him,” Ron said, wincing as he reached down to dust the snow off Philip’s hands. “I’m sure Ginny has some his size inside.”

“Ron!”

Hermione turned in time to see a beautiful, blond haired young woman fly out the front door of the house. She had on thin blue robes and no jacket, but she didn’t seem to notice as she threw herself into Ron’s arms.

Hermione frowned as Ron caught her enthusiastically, returning her hug, and kissing the top of her head. Her feet dangled off the ground as she clung to Ron.

“I missed you,” she rasped with a bright smile.

“Missed you, too,” he said, finally setting her away from him. “Let’s see you. You look good. You’ve been eating.”

“I have,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling. “Harry says I’m going to get fat eating like I do.”

“Harry’s an arse,” Ron said, draping his arm over her shoulder and giving her another hug. “You’re radiant. I’m going to have to fight the boys away.”

She laughed and Hermione studied her silently as she picked up Philip to keep him warm. The woman was more than radiant; she was breathtakingly beautiful. She looked like a winter Goddess with the snow glimmering in her white-blonde hair, and her light blue eyes glowing.

Hermione found herself feeling very plain next to her and more than a little jealous of the attention Ron was lavishing on her. They were obviously very close.

“Hannah Elizabeth Michaels,” Ginny snapped as she came stomping out the door. “Outside without a jacket. You’re going to catch your death.” Ginny draped the shawl she had in her hands over the woman’s shoulders before she turned to Ron, standing on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. “She doesn’t think.”

“I was just excited to see him,” the woman whined, finally shivering from the cold. “It’s been ages.”

“I know, love. I know,” Ginny said, shaking her head before she turned to Hermione and Philip. “Kids. They’ll make you crazy.” She took Philip from Hermione. “Look at you without mittens. I should have told you lot it was snowing.”

“Aunt Ginny!” Philip said, wrapping his arms around Ginny, and giving her a fierce hug.

“Oh! A baby,” the woman said, sounding delighted. “I didn’t even see him.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ginny said, shaking her head again before she turned back to Hermione. “Have you met Hannah?”

“No, not formally,” Hermione said, frowning. “N-not Hannah the twin in Hogwarts?”

“One and the same,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Her brother is inside. I’m not talking to him, Ron. I’ll kill him if I do. Kicked out of school. I could die of embarrassment. Thank God you showed up as fast as you did.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Hannah whined again, and Hermione realized that though she looked older, her tone and pitch was that of a teenager.

Ginny waved off her whining. “Hannah, be polite and say hello to Hermione. She’s Ron’s very dear friend.”

“Hello, Hermione,” the woman greeted her, turning to give Hermione a smile. “You’re baby is so cute.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I think so.”

“He’s beautiful,” Ginny said and then shooed at Hannah, who was still hanging off Ron. “Ron, take this child inside before she freezes to death.”

“I think she may strangle you long before that happens,” Ron said, squeezing Hannah’s arm again as he lead her inside. “You’re in good spirits for getting booted out of school.”

“You know I’d rather be home,” she said, turning to look up at Ron as she whispered loud enough for Hermione to hear. “Her baby looks sort of like you, Ron.”

Ron laughed. “He does, doesn’t he?”

“I love her to death, but the girl doesn’t think,” Ginny sighed as she stood next to Hermione and watched Hannah and Ron walk towards the house. “Were we ever that young and reckless?”

“Perhaps once, a very long time ago,” Hermione said, sighing as she also watched Ron with Hannah. “Hannah doesn’t look seventeen.”

Ginny turned to her, giving her a sad smile as she studied her. “War does that to a soul. It ages us before our time. We all carry the wounds, some more than others. Hannah’s been through a lot and it shows.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Hermione said, lowering her head for a second. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ginny said, shifting Philip to link her arm through Hermione’s. “It’s something I love about you. You don’t see the worst like the rest of us. You’re not jaded. I hope you never are. Now, let’s get this poor, mitten-less baby inside.”

Ginny’s house was beautiful. Even with toys scattered about, it still had a fresh, clean, open air about it that was very different from the Burrow, which was more what Hermione had been expecting.

Her furniture was all in exquisite taste, though not cold and uncomfortable looking. Her rugs and curtains all matched and Hermione was certain that the house and furnishings were worth a small fortune.

“Does the Ministry give you funds?” Hermione asked as she watched children come out of the woodwork to greet Ron.

Ginny snorted. “I couldn’t even feed this lot on the funds the ministry provides.”

“How do you afford all this?” Hermione asked, turning to her in surprise.

“Donations mostly,” Ginny said as she shrugged. “Ron makes a lot of things. Every time he gets stressed I get a new piece of furniture. As you can see, he’s stressed a lot.”

“Ron made all this?” Hermione gasped, turning to run her hand over an ornate cherry wood table against the wall. “This is beautiful. I can’t believe he made it.”

“You didn’t think being an Auror is all Ron does, did you?” Ginny asked as she grinned at Hermione.

“Yes, I did, actually.”

“My brother, a man of many talents,” Ginny said dramatically, before she turned to look at the kids, who were now all hanging off Ron. “Dear Lord, I’m going to have to return your son.”

Ginny handed Philip back to Hermione and then walked up to Ron, pulling a little girl off his leg.

“Can we let your uncle Ron take off his coat before you attack him? Sorry, love, you’d think it’d been weeks since they’ve seen you,” she said, setting the little girl down and then grabbing another girl who was in Ron’s arms. “Emily, leave him be.” Ginny handed Emily to Hannah, who was still hovering near Ron. “Hannah, be a love and do something with this lot. They’re going to choke the life out of poor Ron.”

“It’s fine,” Ron said as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the couch. “Where’s Harry?”

“In the kitchen,” Hannah said to Ron, while still holding Emily to her. “He’s worried that you’re mad at him.”

“I’m mad at him,” Ginny said indignantly. “He should be fretting over that.”

“Miss.” Hermione turned from the scene she was witnessing to look down at a little girl who was about eight or nine. She was tugging on Hermione’s skirt impatiently. “Miss, can I see Philip?”

“Oh, y-yes, I suppose,” Hermione said, leaning down on one knee and setting Philip on his feet. “What’s your name?”

“Marley,” she said, flashing Hermione a bright smile. “I just love Philip. I wish he could stay here. He can share my room. Emily only snores sometimes.”

“I’m afraid I’d miss him terribly,” Hermione said as she started to unbutton Philip’s coat. “But you’re welcome to play with him while he’s here.”

“Play!” Philip said as he shrugged out his coat.

“Will you be okay?”

Hermione looked up as Philip ran off with Marley, to see Ron towering over her. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Go do what you have to do.”

“I hate to abandon you to this lot,” Ron said, tilting his head towards the kids. “I know they’re overwhelming if you’re not used to it.”

“Go deal with Harry,” Ginny said as she came up behind Ron. “I’m perfectly capable of playing host to Hermione.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	20. Chapter 20

Ron found Hannah’s twin Harry in the kitchen, eating chocolate cake right off the platter. It was a good thing Ginny had been ignoring him, because she would have killed him just for that.

“You know, they make plates for a reason,” Ron said, smirking as he leaned against the doorway and studied Harry, wondering if he had ever been that young and defiant.

Harry turned to him with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re not going to tell Ginny, are you?”

“Nah,” Ron said, coming into the kitchen and opening a drawer. He found himself a fork and sat down next to Harry. He took a bite, savoring it. “It’s good,” he mumbled, his mouth still full.

“The best,” Harry agreed as he dug into the cake again and took another bite. “Ginny makes the best cakes. Nothing at Hogwarts can top ‘em.”

“See,” Ron said, cutting the cake with the fork, making a clean slice. “The key to this is to eat in sections, not dig out the middle like you’ve been doing. If you eat it like it’s cut, no one would be the wiser. I get the no dirty plate, no evidence bit, but you gotta make it look like it hasn’t been eaten right off the platter. Stuff like that makes women mental. This is years of wisdom I’m imparting to you, lad.”

Harry choked on his cake, turning to look at Ron incredulously. “You have a criminal mind.”

Ron laughed too. “So I’ve been told. But then, I grew up with Fred and George, not to mention the incorrigible Miss Ginny. They practically invented devious thinking.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah right, I bet Ginny never once broke a rule in school.”

Ron took another bite of cake and turned to look at Harry, arching an eyebrow at him. “You really believe that?”

“Well, she’s perfect, isn’t she?”

Ron rolled his eyes as he set down his fork. “No one’s perfect, mate. No one. Not Ginny, not you, certainly not me.”

Harry nodded and looked down at the cake. He was silent for a while and finally his shoulders slumped as he sighed. “I really fucked up, didn’t I, Ron?”

“You stepped in it, that’s for sure,” Ron agreed as he reached over and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I read the letter from Hogwarts.”

Harry groaned, turning to look at Ron in misery. “She sent that to you?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “You put a kid in the hospital wing--with your bare hands. There’s no reason for that. We’ve got to work on your anger, find a more constructive way to channel it or something.”

“I know,” Harry said, looking down at his hands. “I was trying, Ron. I really was. You know I don’t want to hack you and Ginny off. You two are the only family Hannah and I have.”

“You have more family than us. Look at Grandmum and all the kids. They all love you,” Ron said as he picked up his fork and took another bite of cake. “Granddad, Fred and George. Charlie. Bill--”

“I get it,” Harry said, turning to glare at him. His icy eyes narrowed. “Make me feel worse, why don’t you? Grandmum Weasley is worse than Ginny. She’s going to have my arse.”

Ron laughed. “Probably, but I got a secret to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“Real soon Grandmum Weasley is going to be so hot and fired up over killing me, she’s not even going to blink an eye at you.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why’s she gonna kill you?”

“You’re not the only one who stepped in it,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I’m going to take the fall spectacularly this time. It’ll be one for the record books. You going be there to patch up the bloody wounds, mate?”

“Of course,” Harry said, laughing. “Tell me what you did.”

“You talk first,” Ron said, gesturing towards Harry with his fork. “If I’m going to willingly offer myself up as sacrifice to Grandmum for you, then I wanna know what I’m going down for.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak just as Ginny walked in. She paused at the kitchen door, staring at Ron, who had just taken a bite of her cake.

“I’m not seeing this,” she said, shaking her head. “You are not eating the cake I just made straight off the platter.”

“Shall I Obliviate you of the memory?” Ron asked innocently.

“I made that cake for the baby and Hermione. I was going to make tea. It was going to be lovely,” she said indignantly. “Now what do I have to give her?”

“Biscuits,” Ron suggested.

Ginny huffed. “Just look at what I’m turning over to that poor woman. I’m going to have to beg her forgiveness--straight off the platter. I’m going to pretend not to notice. Didn’t even see it. My brother is not a pig.”

Ron laughed as Ginny walked out of the kitchen mumbling. “You’ve pushed her around the bend,” he said to Harry once Ginny left.

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning at Ron. “Thanks for not telling her I was the one who got it first.”

“You owe me double now. Get talking, lad,” Ron said as he went back to the cake. “Spill your guts.”

“Ron?”

“Hmm?” Ron said, turning back to him with a mouthful of cake.

Harry smirked. “Who’s Hermione?”

“No, no,” Ron said, shaking his head. “You talk first. That’s the deal.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, though his look was defiant. “Some chap said something rude to Hannah and I lost it. That’s it.”

“What’d he say?” Ron asked, turning to look at him.

“Something rude.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “How rude?”

“Real rude. Too rude to repeat,” Harry snapped, his face flushed. “He was threatening her, Ron. He’s been following her for weeks. He’s made her a nervous wreck. Why do you think she hopped the train home with me? She doesn’t want to be alone without me. She’s afraid of him.”

Ron nodded as he processed the information. “You really think he’s a threat?”

“I really do,” Harry said, his voice still defiant and angry. “He’s a Slytherin and he’s a greasy bastard. I don’t trust him not to rape her or worse.”

Ron winced, setting down his fork to run his hand through his hair in frustration. “Harry, have you thought that maybe your past makes you paranoid? Just a little? Maybe he just has a crush on her. Hannah is a pretty girl.”

“I’m not fucking paranoid!” Harry growled as he jumped out of his chair. He had once been a skinny, runty lad, but not anymore. He wasn’t as tall as Ron, but he was awfully close. He had broad shoulders and well honed muscles that were rare on a boy so young, but he seemed to work out all the time. Ron had started him on it in hopes of redirecting his anger. His plan had backfired somewhat, as Harry still had a very short temper and now he was very physically intimidating. Ron wasn’t scared of him, but he knew others that were, especially when his voice got low and fierce like it was now. “He had that look. You think I don’t know that look? The look that says--”

“I know what that look says,” Ron said, holding up his hands, because the idea of him finishing that thought was too painful to hear out loud. “Okay. I believe you.”

Harry turned to him in surprise. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” Ron said indignantly. “You thought your sister was in jeopardy. I get it. You probably should have gone and talked to Neville about it, though. That’s what a Head of House is for, to help out with things like this. To protect you lot.”

“I don’t need someone to protect Hannah, especially a bloke like Longbottom,” Harry said vindictively. “I can take care of her.”

“That’s Professor Longbottom,” Ron said, his voice finally getting sharp. “If I think you’re showing him disrespect, I’ll thump you. He’s been nothing but loyal to Harry and me--Ginny too. Don’t you dare forget that! He’s put his life on the line more than once for all of us.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, falling down in his seat and looking somewhat abashed.

“You should be,” Ron said, still glaring at him. “And Neville is a tough bloke. It’s not all about the muscle. He’s wicked with a wand. Brains count for something--so does finishing school.”

“I know,” Harry said, going back to looking at his hands.

“If you want to be an Auror, you’ve got to finish school,” Ron went on seriously.

“But, Uncle Harry--”

“Won’t be able to do shit unless you finish school,” Ron said as he reached into his pocket to grab his tobacco tin. “That’s the deal, Harry. Aurors finish school with good marks. We’re desperate, but we still need recruits to have something resembling brains rattling inside their thick skulls. That goes for you the same as everyone else.”

Ron rolled himself a cigarette while Harry went back to eating cake. “Can I have one?”

“Have one what?” Ron asked, looking up at him as he licked the paper to his cigarette.

“A fag.”

Ron laughed. “Bugger off!”

“I’m seventeen,” Harry said, sounding it as his voice took on a whinny tone. “I’m old enough.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you were eighty. I’m not rolling you a cigarette,” Ron said, shaking his head. “How many hits did that kid get in?”

“Only one good one,” Harry said, puffing out his chest in a way he probably thought was impressive. “I knocked him out cold before he had the chance to do any real damage. Scared him half to death with that knife you gave me, too. You should have seen his face.”

“Well, one hit had to have been enough. Roll you a fag,” Ron said, laughing at him again as he lit his cigarette. “You’re mental. Ginny would have me buried long before Grandmum  could do the job.”

“You smoke,” Harry said, glaring at him.

“I’m quitting,” Ron said as he transfigured an ashtray out of a knife lying on the table. “Soon.”

“You always say that,” Harry pointed out.

“I know, but this time I mean it,” Ron said seriously. “I can’t smoke anymore. It’s a bad example for you lot and it’s a bad example for my son. I have to suck it up like a man and quit. That’s all there is to it. You didn’t tell anyone I gave you that knife, did you?”

“Of course not,” Harry said, sounding insulted.

“I should thump you for pulling it on him,” Ron growled at him, his eyes narrowed. “It’s for emergencies only.”

“It was an emergency!”

“That’s debatable,” Ron said dryly, taking a long drag off his cigarette and leaning back against the chair tiredly. “Mate, I am having one hell of a month. As always, your timing is impeccable.”

Harry sighed. “You’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m just--” Ron paused, taking a deep breath as he tapped his cigarette against the ashtray. “Nothing—I’ll talk to Neville, we’ll get it worked out somehow.”

“McGonagal hates me.”

Ron gave him a look that showed little sympathy. “Who can blame her? Beating kids up, pulling knifes—Christ, I’m gonna have to bend over and kiss her bare arse to get you back in school.”

Harry laughed. “That’s a nasty image.”

“You’re telling me,” Ron said, pulling a face. “I’m the one doing the kissing.”

Harry chuckled again and then lowered his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I put you and Ginny through.”

“I know, Ginny does too. Give her a bit, she’ll cool off, she always does. Just like mum, that one,” Ron said, and then cast him another warning glare. “I’ll deny it if you tell her I said that.”

“Your secret is safe,” Harry said as he went back to the cake, obviously trying to make himself feel better.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, with Harry eating his cake and Ron smoking his cigarette. Ron was just putting stubbing it out in the ashtray when Harry cleared his throat.

“Ron?”

“Hmm,” he said as he got up to make himself a cup of coffee.

“Did you say you had a son?”

Ron paused at the counter, turning back to look at Harry. “What?”

“A son—You said you had to quit smoking because it was a bad example for your son.”

“Oh,” Ron said, turning back around to Ginny’s coffee pot, happy to discover that she had just brewed a fresh pot. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”

“What’d you mean by that?” Harry said, his voice curious and confused.

“Well, I guess it meant exactly what it sounded like,” Ron said as he poured himself a cup. “And I said it was a bad example for all of you, not just him.”

“But, you don’t have a son.”

“I didn’t,” Ron said, turning around and taking a sip of coffee. “But, now I do.”

“You adopted someone,” Harry said, his face pale. “You said you couldn’t adopt any of us, that-”

“Hold on,” Ron snapped at him. “You’re jumping to conclusions again.”

“You lied to us!” Harry said, jumping out of seat, his voice low and menacing once more. “You lied to me! You just didn’t want me and-”

“For fuck sake!” Ron said, stomping over to him, totally sick of Harry’s temper that always seem to get the better of him. He grabbed the back of his shirt roughly and physically dragged him to the door, which was no small feat when he was struggling like he was with his trainers dragging heavily on the floor. He jerked the door open, his eyes scanning the living-room until he spotted Philip sitting on the floor playing with Marley. “There—That’s my son!” he said, pointing to Philip. “Now does he look adopted, you unappreciative little shit?”

Harry paused, his struggling stopping as he stared at Philip. Ron watched his mouth drop open in shock. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Ron said, realizing that he was still angry at Harry when he had just lost his temper as well. “Is that enough proof, or would you like to speak with his mother so she can give you a play by play,” Ron said, finally releasing his collar. “I love you, Harry, but you really hack me off sometimes.”

“I’m a dickhead,” Harry rasped, his eyes still glued to Philip.

“Sometimes,” Ron agreed.

“Well,” Ginny said, standing up from the couch, not looking too pleased. “Now that the children have learned so many lovely new words, Ron, would you like to introduce Hermione to Harry?”

Ron winced at Hermione, who stood up with Ginny. Both of the women obviously heard everything and he felt his face burn in embarrassment.  
   
He rubbed at the back of his neck as he gestured to Hermione. “Harry, this is Hermione, my son’s mother.” Ron watched Harry’s eyes narrow, as though he was figuring out a difficult puzzle. When his eyes darted to Hermione’s left hand, Ron smacked the back of his head. “Pretend you have manners.”  
   
Harry stuck out his hand reluctantly and Hermione shook it, looking just as hesitant while Ginny smiled grimly at both men. “Harry, you’ll forgive Hermione for not giving you a play by play to prove Philip’s parentage.”

Harry jerked his hand out of Hermione’s stuttering, “I-I’ll, just um—Go back into the kitchen, yeah?”

“A splendid idea,” Ginny said, her voice strained as she gave them both a thin-lipped smile. “Perhaps you’d like to have some cake? I’d cut it for you, but--”

“He’s going,” Ron said, pushing Harry back into the kitchen before he turned back to Hermione, pulling a face. “Sorry.”

Hermione smiled, still looking uncomfortable. “N-no, I’m sorry. I--”

“Don’t you dare apologize!” Ginny snapped at her. “The fault lies with them. I thought you were talking about school!” she whispered under her breath to Ron.

“We were,” Ron said, also whispering. “The rest just sorta slipped out. Have you talked to Neville?”

“Of course,” Ginny said as though it were obvious. “He’s not too anxious to take him back.”

“But he will, right?” Ron asked, his voice still low. “Has he talked to McGonagall or do we have to?”

“He said we should contact her,” Ginny sighed, looking exasperated. “I’m not thrilled at that notion.”

“I’ll do it after I’m done in here,” Ron said, also sighing. “He has to finish school, Ginny. He’ll never be an Auror if he doesn’t.”

“Like I want him to be an Auror!” Ginny snapped, no longer keeping her voice low. “But you’re right; he’s got to finish school. Mind you, it’ll be a ruddy miracle if he does.”

“He’ll do it,” Ron assured her and then dropping his voice even lower. “To be honest, I’m not certain he was out of line with this fight. Some bloke’s been stalking Hannah. That’s another reason I need to talk to McGonagall and you might want to talk to Neville about it too.”

“I’ll ask about it,” Ginny said, giving Ron a worried look. “Do you really think he’s a danger?”

“Harry said he was,” Ron said, as he rubbed the back of his neck again. “I believe him.”

Ginny’s face softened as she turned to Hermione. “Harry is a hot head, but bless his heart, he has such a soft spot for his sister. He really is an angel once you get to know him.”

“H-he, um—Doesn’t look seventeen either,” Hermione rasped under her breath to both of them. “My Goodness, but he’s a big lad. I can’t believe Hannah is his twin.”

“He sprouted right up, didn’t he, Ron?” Ginny said, smiling proudly. “He was just a tiny thing when we found him. Starved near to death and--”

“Ginny,” Ron whispered in warning, not certain if they were still being listened to.

Ginny huffed. “She’s family.”

“Later,” Ron said, and then tilted his head to the closed kitchen door. “I’m gonna go finish up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hermione said, giving him a beaming smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

Ron pulled a face. “For what?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said, shaking her head for a second before she stood on her toes, and pecked him on the cheek.

She walked off after that, going back to Philip and Ginny gave him a knowing look once Hermione was gone, her smile devious. “You two seem to be getting along nicely. I trust things are progressing as planned.”

“No meddling,” Ron said to her, jabbing a finger at her shoulder. “You’ve done enough.”

“I see,” Ginny said, still giving him that sly look he knew all too well. “From the looks of things you should be thanking me.”

“You wish,” Ron said, unable to stop himself from laughing.

“Forget the flowers,” she said smugly. “I’m more than happy with money or jewelry.”

“Talk to your mate, Harry,” Ron said dryly. “’Cause I’m not buying you jewelry, you spoiled wench.”

“You love me,” she said, as she also stood on her toes, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I’m proud of you, too.”

“Yeah, bugger off,” he said, pushing her away. “Go use your charm on Neville.”

Ginny gave a broken laugh. “I may have to use more than charm. I already promised him dinner.”

“Christmas?” Ron asked curiously. “Is he coming?”

“He’ll be here for New Years. I invited him for Christmas, but he declined. Who can blame the poor bloke? Speaking of Christmas, you need to talk to mum about Philip.”

“Leave me be,” Ron said, turning his back on her. “I’ll do it when I’m ready.”

“You’ll never be ready,” Ginny said, as Ron opened the kitchen door.

“Probably not,” Ron agreed, leaving Ginny where she stood as he went back to Harry.

Ron found him back at the table, but this time he wasn’t eating cake. He was just staring into space, his pale face flushed, his blue eyes burning. “What’s got your guard up?”

“She never told you about him, did she?” Harry said, turning to him, still looking furious. “That woman, she never told you about your son.”

“I never said that,” Ron snapped at him.

“You didn’t have to,” Harry growled, his voice still low, but angry. “If you’d known you would have married her.”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe I’m an arsehole,” he offered.

“You wouldn’t leave her in the lurch,” Harry said, shaking his head in denial. “She never told you. She kept him from you, didn’t she?”

“Look, Harry,” Ron said, dropping down in the chair next to him. “This is a real complicated situation, one that I’m not explaining to you. But, Hermione had her reasons. I never gave her any real faith in me.”

“How can she not have faith in you?” he said incredulously. “You’re the most honorable wizard I know.”

Ron laughed. “Thanks, mate, but I think you’re biased. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t perfect. I make mistakes too--big ones.”

“I don’t like her at all,” Harry said vindictively.

“Hey!” Ron snapped in Hermione’s defense. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know she’s a liar!”

Ron’s retort was still trapped on his lips when a knock sounded on the door. Not knowing who could be stopping by at this time of day, he got up, heading towards the living-room, Harry at his heels. He held up a hand to Ginny when she stood to open the door, going to the front door himself.

“Who is it?” he asked cautiously, wand in hand. Harry was at his back, his wand also drawn and ready.

“It’s me,” an annoyed voice said. “Ronald, stop being paranoid and open this door.”

“Oh, you are so dead,” Harry whispered in his ear. “Does she know?”

“Shut up,” Ron hissed back at him as his pulse pounded and icy fear spread over him. “Mum, I need your password.”

“Merlin, save me,” he heard his mother mutter. “Just like his father, not that I don’t love him-”

Ron exchanged a panicked look with Ginny before he went ahead and opened the door, knowing that no one could mimic his mother’s irritation that perfectly.

His mother stood there, bags on both arms as she looked up at him. “Hey, Mum.”

“Hello, darling,” she said, handing the bags to Ron. “What’re you doing here?” his mum asked as he dutifully took all the bags from her. “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I took off to see the twins,” he said, leaning down when his mother gestured to him. She kissed him on the cheek and gave him a quick hug. “We didn’t know you’d be stopping by.”

“I went shopping,” she said, reaching out to Ginny who had also walked up to greet her. “Wait until you see the Christmas outfits I bought the children. You will love them!”

“I’m sure,” Ginny said, hugging her mother as she turned to mouth dead to Ron silently. “You look healthy.”

“Mmm, these robes are too tight, love,” Molly said, frowning at Ginny. “No decent man will--”

“Hey, Grandmum,” Harry said, stepping forward to hug her as well, which certainly earned him Ginny points, because they all knew how much she loathed her mum harping about her wardrobe.  “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, you rotten boy,” she said, hugging Harry tightly. “Don’t think you and I aren’t going to have a word—I already heard! How could you--”

“Leave him alone, mum,” Ron sighed. “I’ve already talked with him.”

“That’s like the blind leading the blind,” his mother said, walking into the living room. She called out to the children. “Come on and give Grandmum a hug. Come see what I brought you!”

The kids piled on her then, all of them extremely excited, because Ron’s mother never failed to bring gifts whenever she visited—which was often. Hermione had slipped silently into the kitchen, for which Ron was thankful, because he hadn’t been expecting this. His thoughts had instantly scattered and his nerves were a wreck. He realized he was more terrified now than he had been on some of his most dangerous missions.

Obviously caught up in the excitement, Philip ran to her as well and Ron winced when his mum swooped him up. “Oh, my goodness, Ginny! You didn’t tell me you had a new one!”

“Um--” Ginny said, pulling a panicked face at Ron.

“Look at his hair,” their mum said, hugging him tightly as her fingers ran through his red hair. “Dear Lord, but he looks just like you lot did. If I didn’t know better--”

“Listen, mum,” Ron said, with no other choice, he gathered his nerve as he set down the lot of bags his mother had handed him. He stepped forward, knowing his face was probably pale as death.

“Daddy,” Phillip said excitedly, jumping out his mother’s arms. He bounced up and down in front of Ron.  “Toys, Daddy! Presents!”

His mother’s head shot up, her eyes wide and Ron sighed and picked up Philip.  “You and I have got to talk.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Ron?” His mother’s face was confused, her eyebrows marred in concern. “W-what do we have to talk about? Why is this child calling you Daddy?”

“Let's go to my office,” Ginny said, putting her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “We’ll explain it away from everyone.”

Shaking off Ginny’s hand, Molly Weasley narrowed her eyes as she studied Philip in Ron’s arms.  “This is just not possible.  The child is simply confused.  Tell me he’s confused, Ronald.  Right this minute.”

Ron shook his head. “He’s not confused.”

His mother gasped and turned her back on him. She gripped at her chest as she started breathing heavily. Ginny wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulder. “Mum, I want you to come to my office,” she said firmly. Her voice dropped down a notch as she whispered in her mother’s ear. “I won’t have a scene in front of the children.”

“The children,” his mother said, turning around to look at all the kids who had grown silent, watching the scene that was unfolding in front of them curiously. “Y-yes, the children.”

“We’ll go to my office,” Ginny said again, gently leading her there when Molly seemed unable to move. Ron followed, and Ginny turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Leave Philip, love.”

“Oh, right.” Ron stopped and set down Philip. “Be good, okay, mate?”

“Toys?” Philip questioned, sounding disappointed that he hadn’t gotten the presents that he was promised. 

“We’ll go shopping later,” Ron said, giving Philip a false smile. “We’ll get some more blocks to play with.”

“Blocks!” Philip said brightly. “We build a dragon!”

“We’ll build a big dragon,” Ron promised him. He looked up, seeing that Hermione had come out of the kitchen. “But, stay with your mum for now.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, coming up to him. “I’ll go in there with you. I’ll tell her it’s not your fault.”

Ron felt sick as he stood up, but he shook his head. “No, she’s my mother. I’ll deal with her.”

“You shouldn’t be blamed for anything,” Hermione said softly. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”

On impulse, Ron reached out and hugged Hermione, desperate for the comfort. He gathered a little strength when Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him to her. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “It’ll be okay.”

“None of this is your fault,” Hermione mumbled into his chest. “I was the wretch that did this to you. I’ll tell her everything.”

“Hermione, I’m not blame free,” Ron admitted as he pulled away from her. “You and I both know that. I should have never left you that morning.”

 “I’m sorry,” she said again and then bit at her lip, her eyes watery.

“I know.”

Hermione looked at up at him in surprise. “Y-you do?”

“Yeah,” he said and then tilted his head towards Ginny’s office. “I better get in there.”

Hermione nodded and Ron left her there with Philip before he lost his nerve. He had to take a deep breath before he opened the door to Ginny’s office, and what he found was disturbing, but not surprising. 

His mother was crying. 

She sat in the chair in front of the fire, sobbing as Ginny rubbed her back. His sister looked up when he entered and just shrugged helplessly. 

Ron sighed. “Mum, please don’t--”

“How could you, Ronnie?” she rasped between sobs. “I thought I raised you better than this.”

“I know,” he said and fell into the other chair, not quite ready to face his mother. “I fucked up.”

“Don’t use that foul, ugly language in front of me!” she snapped at him, turning around to glare at him. “Are you intentionally trying to hurt me even more?  Vulgarity, illegitimacy, smoking . . . you certainly seem determined to do everything in your power to upset me.”

“No!” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“He’s not really yours,” she said, her voice laced with a desperate pleading tone.  “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

“I can’t,” Ron said, throwing his hands up. “His mother was never with anyone else. I know he’s mine.”

“Oh, God,” she said, turning away from him as she let out another sob. “You took advantage of some poor girl, and then left her alone and pregnant.”

“Mum, he didn’t know,” Ginny said levelly. “He would have married her if he had. You know he would!”

Ignoring Ginny completely, Molly stood and rounded on Ron.  “Who is she?” she said, “What family is she from? Dear Lord, what they must think of us. First Percy and now this—”

“Don’t you _dare_ compare him to Percy,” Ginny said, this time her voice was sharp. “This was an accident. Ron didn’t do it on purpose.”

His mother’s face flushed as she glared at Ginny. “Not on purpose?  Ginevra, even I am not that naive to believe that Ron’s relations were an accident.  The fact that he couldn’t even be bothered to control his urges and protect himself speaks volumes about his upbringing.  Completely irresponsible.  You would think that he would know better seeing how much integrity your older brothers have?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Lots of people have sex out of wedlock, Mum. I have sex out of wedlock.”

Their mother shook her head, tears running down her face as she stared up Ginny in horror. “Where did I go wrong with you two?” 

Ginny sighed. “I dunno, Mum. We’re just black sheep, I suppose.”

“Is it Harry?” his mother asked sadly, surprising Ron when her questioning turned to Ginny. “Is he the one?”

“Yes,” Ginny said without hesitation. 

“He’s a good man,” their mother declared. “He would marry you, Ginny. You could finally settle down like your bothers.”

“Our perfect brothers--They just walk on water, don’t they? They got married and reproduced like rabbits as every good Weasley should,” Ginny said in fury. “I don’t want to get married! Harry and I are happy as we are. We do what we please, when we please and with _whom_ we please!”

“Ginny!” 

“What?” Ginny said defiantly. “You want me to make you happy and say that Harry has been the only one.  Well, I’m sorry Mother – but I cannot tell lies!” 

“Oh, you think you know what you are doing, don’t you?”  Molly said, her voice pitched low.  “You know he loves you and you take advantage of that.  He gives you money and he supports you and what do you do.  You take it and give him nothing in return.  No family . . . no wife . . . nothing.  Well, Ginny Weasley, he will not wait around forever.  Sooner or later, he is going to get tired of waiting and he will find a proper wife just like he deserves.  There are times that I cannot believe that you are my daughter!”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Ron said, finally losing his temper. “Harry can’t get married. He’s neck deep in this damn war! Ginny offers him the only comfort he gets in this and I won’t sit here and listen to you give her shit about it!”

“Don’t you talk to me like that!” his mother yelled. “And who do you think you are that you can offer up an opinion on this matter?  You with the illegitimate child sitting in the living room.  Can you not understand how this will impact this family when this scandal gets out?” 

“You want me to be sorry for Philip?” Ron asked, his eyes narrowed. “I won’t! I don’t give a shit what kind of scandal he causes because the world is better with him in it!”

“Then why haven’t you provided for him?” his mother countered, jumping out of the chair and pointing wildly at the door. “Why doesn’t he have our name? Why have I missed the first—the first—” she huffed, sat and deflated somehow. “I don’t even know how old my own grandson is.”

“He’s two and a half.”

“I’ve missed over two years of his life!” his mother yelled. 

“So have I!” Ron snapped. “You think that doesn’t kill me? You think I haven’t been dying inside since I found out? Believe it or not, Mum, Ginny and I don’t plot and do things to hurt you. Dear God, you daughter runs an orphanage that she can barely pay for, but she manages it because she has a good heart. She cares for children that aren’t even her own and she loves them as if they were. All you do is harp at her about her robes and her lack of a husband. Why can’t you see how amazing she is?”

“Harry pays for this orphanage!” she said vindictively. “I see more than you two think I do! Don’t tell me she is pinching Knuts, because she has new, indecent robes every time I see her.”

“I buy her the clothes,” Ron said, now so far beyond furious that he stood up and glared at his mother. “Her life is hard and the robes make her happy. She deserves them.”

“Then you’re the reason your sister doesn’t have a husband!” his mother said, her face red and blotchy. “No decent man will marry a witch who dresses like that.”

“Trust me, Mum,” Ron said, smiling grimly. “Those robes do not hurt her chances at finding a husband. Nearly every bloke I work with has asked permission to date her.”

“They obviously think that she’s loose.”

“You’re nutters,” Ron said, falling down in the chair and pulling out his tobacco tin. “I hate Percy, but I can’t fucking blame him for running away from you.”

His mother sobbed again, “You are a wretched man,” she said brokenly. 

She started crying loudly and Ginny gave him a stern look while he rolled a cigarette. “Ron.”

“What?” he said, looking down at his cigarette rather than meet Ginny’s eyes. 

“Take it back,” she said softly.

“She just called you loose!” Ron said as he lit his cigarette. 

“She’s upset and she didn’t really mean to say that.” Always too forgiving, she rubbed her mother’s back again. “Did you, Mum?”

“I just wish you’d marry Harry. If anyone needs a wife, Harry does and he would be such a lovely husband, Ginny,” his mother said, her voice weak with tears, but she turned to watch Ron transfigure an ashtray, wrinkling her nose. “Ronald, you know I hate the smell of those things.”

“My nerves are shot to hell,” Ron said, unwilling to put out his cigarette. “They keep me from losing my temper.”

“Obviously not,” his mother snapped, getting some of her fury back. “Who is that poor child’s mother? I want to know.”

Ron sighed, looking away from her as he took a long drag off his cigarette. He just couldn’t bring himself to answer her.  After a long silence, he heard Ginny huff and answer in a rather quiet voice. 

“Hermione Granger is Philip’s mother,” Ginny said evenly. “She lives in France and has done a wonderful job with him so far. He speaks both French and English extremely well. He goes to a lovely day school and he is well behaved and very smart.”

Ron turned to see tears roll down his mother’s face as she looked at him, shaking her head. “Hermione Granger. Someone I actually thought you cared for. That poor child has been through so much. What were you thinking, Ron?”

“I didn’t mean to, Mum,” Ron said, feeling a sharp pain in his chest from his mother’s accusations. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“How has she managed with no family—No one to help her?” his mother asked, her voice mystified. “How can a woman raise a child without a husband? How has she supported him on her own?”

“Hermione has a good job,” Ron said, deciding to leave out the fact that she had inherited a large fortune in Muggle money when her parents were killed. “And Harry has helped her. You know they are still close.”

“Of course I am aware of that. Harry at least had the sense to remain her friend.  Although it is obvious to me now that the two of you must have been somewhat _friendly_ at least once.”  Molly’s anger was back and her back straightened. “ However, I refuse to believe that Harry did not tell you about your son.” 

“Harry never mentioned Philip to either of us,” Ginny answered for Ron, obviously knowing it was a sore subject. “He didn’t know Ron was the father. Hermione wanted to keep the baby a secret for obvious reasons and Harry honored her wishes.”

“Why would she hide him from you?” his mother asked, her voice suspicious. Hermione was always a favourite with Molly. A good girl with strong moral fiber. “What did you do to ruin her trust in you?”

“Hermione is very independent,” Ron sighed, incredibly sad to realize that he really did not know the true answer to that question. “She claims she didn’t want to bother me.”

His mother sighed, looking at her hands, a horrified expression taking over her face. “Y-you didn’t force her, did you, Ronnie?”

Ron gapped. “Are you mental?”

“Was she afraid to face you?” she asked, obviously searching for the reason why Hermione would hide Philip from him and putting Ron at fault. He had known she would. “Why haven’t you been to see her? How is it that y-you did—made that baby and never saw her again? You obviously weren’t courting her, or you would have brought her by the house—Or at least mentioned her. Were you drunk? I know you drink--”

“I’m not listening to any more of this,” Ron said firmly as he stood up. He was so hurt he could hardly stand it and he was afraid what he might say something he’d regret later. “I will never understand why you treat Ginny and I like we’re shit—it’s not fair.”

“And I’ll never understand why you two oppose me every chance you get,” she countered. “Why can’t you be more like your brothers? Get a safe, responsible job and start a _real_ family. I always knew being an Auror would ruin you. You never drank or smoked before you joined. Can’t you see that this job has destroyed your life? No woman wants a husband who spends his whole life in danger. Now you’re almost thirty and all you have to show for it is an illegitimate child.”

“Yeah, you would see that,” he said grimly and then turned to Ginny as he mashed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “We’re going home. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t leave,” Ginny pleaded. “She’s in shock.”

Ron glared at his mother coldly. “Don’t expect me at Christmas.” 

His mother gaped, silent tears running down her face. “Y-you have to bring the baby for Christmas. He needs to be with his family.”

“I’m not sure I want him with this particular family,” Ron snapped at her. “Besides, what do you care? He’s just some illegitimate child to you—Another example that I’m brilliant at fucking up my life.”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley! This language is completely unacceptable. And the fact that you seem particularly determined to make decisions and to take actions that are grossly irresponsible does not negate the fact that the child is my grandson. I will love that child just as much as all the others,” his mother said defiantly.

“Sure you will,” Ron said dryly and then opened the door to Ginny’s office and left. 

Hermione jumped up from the couch and came to him. “Did it go okay?”

Ron shook his head. “Grab the baby. We’re leaving.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, her voice pained. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

“That’s the last thing I want,” he snapped, making Hermione wince and he softened his voice as he sighed. “I just want to get out of here.”

Hermione nodded and turned around to gather Philip. Ron could still hear his mother sobbing from Ginny’s office, and he walked into the kitchen, unwilling to listen to it a minute more. Harry was sitting there, back to eating cake and Hannah was with him. But, unlike her brother, she was eating a large piece of the chocolate cake off one of Ginny’s blue china plates. 

“You look like shit,” Harry observed. “Was it bad?”

“Yeah,” Ron said in a flat, lifeless voice. “Hermione and I are taking off.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, jumping up and wringing her hands. She met Ron’s eyes shyly. “We’re not staying with you?”

Ron sighed. “Not this time,” he said, pulling a pained face. “I got Hermione and the baby and--”

“He doesn’t have time for us,” Harry said bitterly.

“I didn’t say that,” Ron barked at him and then sighed again, not wanting to take his temper out on the twins. This mess wasn’t their fault. “I’m not staying at my place. I’ve been staying at Hermione’s flat in France.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said sullenly, going back to his cake. 

“We understand.” Hannah gave him a sad smile. “I think Philip is really sweet. Hermione let me hold him.”

“Thanks, love,” he said, and then reached out and hugged Hannah to him. “Go easy on Ginny for me. She’s had a bad day.”

“Did Grandmum lay into her again?” Hannah asked in concern. 

“A little, yeah.”

“Oh.” She lowered her eyes. “Will you be back soon?”

“I dunno,” Ron said hesitantly. “But, I’ll try.”

“Don’t bother.” Harry jumped up and brushed roughly past Ron. “Go be with your _new_ family.”

Hermione was just coming into the kitchen, Philip in her arms as Harry stomped past her. “Is everything okay?” she asked in concern, turning to look at Harry as he stormed up the stairs.

“He’ll be fine,” Hannah said sweetly. “He’s just disappointed that we can’t stay with Ron this time.”

“Oh!” Hermione said, her eyes widening. “Do they stay with you for the holidays?”

“Usually, yeah,” Ron said and then reached out to take Philip from her. He was dressed in his winter coat and Ron saw that Ginny had obviously found mittens for him, because Philip kept shaking his hands, obviously unsure if he liked the thick padding. “But, I explained that I was staying with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt things,” Hermione said, looking from Ron back to Hannah. “Perhaps we can find room for them.”

Ron shook his head. “We can’t all fit in your flat and getting Portkeys back and forth from Paris will be a pain around the holidays.”

“I-is your flat bigger?”

“He has a lovely flat,” Hannah said excitedly. “Three bedrooms and an office! There’s plenty of room.”

“Hannah!” Ron turned to glare at her. “Now isn’t a great time.”

“I suppose Philip and I could stay at your flat,” Hermione said. “Philip could, um—sleep on the couch or in the office.”

“No, Hermione,” Ron said, shaking his head. “We’ll go back to your place.”

“Harry and I could share a room,” Hannah said, apparently ignoring Ron’s sharp look and the warning in his voice. “Then Philip will have his own room. You’d be close for Christmas too. No Portkeys to worry about.”

“That’s true,” Hermione said reasonably. “And maybe staying with you will be safer.”

Ron shook his head defiantly. “No.”

“Yes, I insist,” Hermione said firmly. “The last thing I want to do is disrupt your life any more that I already have, especially around the holidays. We’ll all make due.”

“Great!” Hannah said and then reached out and hugged Hermione. “Thank you!”

Hermione looked surprised, but returned her hug. “Do you need some time to pack your things?”

“Nope,” Hannah said happily. “Harry and I got our stuff all ready!” She dashed to the door. “I’m going to tell him.”

When she left, Ron held Philip closer to him and groaned. “Shit.”

“Shit!” Philip repeated happily.

“Ron,” Hermione said warningly. “You need to work on that.”

“I know,” he said, laughing at the insanity of everything. He didn’t know how this day could get any worse. “God, I’m sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione gave him a strained smile. “It’s fine, really.”

“You know Harry’s a pain in the arse, right?” Ron said hesitantly. “He’s got a chip on his shoulder.”

Hermione stared up at him, looking a bit lost. “He doesn’t like me, does he?” 

“He doesn’t like anyone,” Ron assured her. “And if you’re not comfortable staying at my place, I’ll go set them straight--”

“It’s only for the Holidays. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Ron handed Philip back to her. “Just let me tell Ginny I’m taking them.”

Hermione nodded, taking Philip back. “I’ll just go check on the twins.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron said as he walked out of the kitchen, and pointed up the stairs. “Harry and Hannah’s room is on the second floor, third door on the right.”

“They share a room here?” Hermione asked, looking surprised. 

“Yeah,” Ron said, pulling a face. “They’re brother and sister. We usually pair siblings together.”

“But, they’re teenagers—Don’t they need privacy?”

Ron laughed. “I forget sometimes that you were an only child,” he said, grinning at her. “Big families don’t get privacy. I’ve been grown for years and I still don’t have any.”

Hermione grinned back at him. “It must be nice—having so much family.”

“Sometimes,” Ron admitted and then looked towards Ginny’s office. “But, there are days when it’s a real pain in the arse.”

“Meet you here in a few minutes?” Hermione said, still smiling.

“Yeah,” he said, turning towards Ginny’s office. “We’ll Floo to my place.”

Hermione headed up the stairs, Philip still in her arms and Ron sighed, hating to go back into Ginny’s office, but he steeled his shoulders and did it. He found that his mother was still crying, her face buried in her hands while Ginny was on her knees in front of her, rubbing her leg and talking to her in soft, soothing tones. They both looked up when he entered. Ginny seemed surprised, but his mother just huffed and turned her back on him. 

Ginny stood up, brushing her robes straight as she did so. “Is everything okay out there?” 

“Yeah,” Ron said, unable to ignore his mother’s crying. “Hermione and I are taking the twins.”

“What?” Ginny said, gapping. “You can’t all fit in Hermione’s small flat.”

“We’re staying at my place,” Ron said, meeting his mother’s eyes when she turned to look at him, but then focused his attention back on Ginny. “Can you owl Harry and tell him where we’ll be?” He rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans. “And ask him to send Pig home from the Ministry.”

“Sure,” Ginny said, looking concerned as she came to him. She reached out, placing a small hand on his shoulder as she whispered. “Won’t it be awkward for you and Hermione to have the twins underfoot.”

“They were already packed.” Ron shrugged. “And Hermione promised Hannah. I’m stuck.”

A small smile tugged at Ginny’s lips. “She invited them?”

“Well, Hannah sorta invited herself,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “But, Hermione insisted.”

“That’s very sweet of her, Ron,” Ginny’s smile turned bright and genuine. “I’m thrilled to hear that.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, looking down at his hands for a second. “I’m sure we’ll be around.”

Ron’s head jerked up as he heard a small hrmphh from his mother. She was back on her feet, hands on her hips and her voice was shrill as she exclaimed, “You and Hermione cannot be seen living together. This is absolutely not an option, Ron. It is absolutely indecent and I will not allow it. As you do not seem to give an owl’s hoot what I think, you would do well to think of Hermione’s reputation. Do you really want the mother of your child to be seen as some kind of loose chit?”

Ron sighed, his eyes narrowed, but he saw the stern look Ginny gave him.  “Hermione and Philip were attacked by Death Eaters last week. I need to stay with them in case it happens again,” he said and then realized that Ginny’s owl could be intercepted. “Encode the message to Harry,” he said to his sister. “Just in case—I don’t want them knowing where Hermione is.”

His mother had gasped in horror, her hands flying to her mouth and she mumbled past them. “Were they hurt?”

“They’re fine,” Ron assured her. “But, they still need protection and I’m not going to let silly moral rules put my son’s or Hermione’s life in danger.”

“No, of course not,” his mother said as she swiftly wiped at her eyes. “Is Hermione here?”

“She’s helping the twins gather their things,” Ron said tensely. 

“C-can I speak with her?” 

“No.” 

“B-but, she’s my daughter-in-law,” his mother argued. 

“No, Mum, she isn’t.”

“She will be,” his mother snapped. “Now that you know about the baby you have to marry her. Even _you_ know that.”

Ron ignored his mother, reaching out to give Ginny a hug instead. 

“Go,” Ginny said in a low whisper against his ear and then kissed his cheek. “I’ll deal with her.”

“Love you,” he said to Ginny, letting her go and turning to reach for the door.

“You have to come for Christmas, Ronnie,” his mother said, her voice pleading. “I want the baby to be there.”

Ron left the room without answering her.

 


	22. Chapter 22

They all made it back to Ron’s place without running into his mother again and for that, Ron was infinitely thankful. He had had enough of her for one day. Once they got the twins settled, he, Hermione and Philip took their Portkey back to Paris to gather their things.  
  
It was dark by the time they got home. Ron was relieved to see that the older Harry had sent Pig back to him, with a note promising to stop by tomorrow. While they were gone the twins had made themselves at home. Hannah had made dinner and Harry was setting the table.  
  
"This is lovely," Hermione said, smiling at Harry.  
  
"It was Hannah’s idea," Harry said, setting the last of the silverware on the table and turning his back on her.  
  
Hermione turned to look at Ron in concern, but all he could do was shake his head as he set Philip down and walked into the kitchen.  
  
"You want me to serve?" Ron asked Hannah, whose face was flushed from the heat in the kitchen.  
  
"No." She stopped stirring and shook her head. "Harry and I will do it."  
  
"If you insist," Ron said, walking up to the stove and opening one of the pots. "It looks good. This was really nice of you."  
  
"I love being able to use magic outside of school." She grinned and went back to stirring whatever she was making. "And I wanted you and Hermione to know that we appreciate you letting us stay."  
  
Ron smiled at her as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "We’ll have a nice holiday."  
  
"You have no decorations up," Hannah said, a frown marring her forehead. "Can we do it tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure, but the stuff is at Ginny’s. I’ll get it and we can do the place up."  
  
"I love Christmas," she said, her smile bright once more.  
  
"I know," he said and then hugged her on impulse, because she had been gone for what seemed like ages. "I missed you."  
  
"Oh, I missed you too," she said, returning his hug. "I’m so happy the baby will be here."  
  
"Me too," he said as he released her and turned to walk out of the kitchen.  
  
"Ron, your flat is beautiful," Hermione said, looking around at it in awe. "It’s so big."  
  
Ron shrugged. "I bought it after Ginny got the twins—You know, just in case."  
  
"You’re really close with them," Hermione said in a hushed voice.  
  
"Yeah," he said, finding that his neck was burning a little and he ran a hand through his hair as a distraction. "I know I have a lot of baggage, Hermione."  
  
"No," she said quickly. "I think it’s wonderful."  
  
Ron frowned at her. "You do?"  
  
"Yes." She nodded, her voice wispy as she stared up at him. "I think you’re an amazing man."  
  
Ron’s eyebrows rose, but he couldn’t find anything to say. Fortunately, he didn’t have to because Hannah came in from the kitchen, rubbing her hands on her apron. "Are we ready for dinner?"  
  
"Um, yeah." Ron and Hermione had been staring at each other, but he finally broke the spell and looked away. "I’ll just tell Harry."  
  
Ron walked down the hallway and knocked on Harry’s room, knowing instinctively that Hannah would be the one to sacrifice her room for Philip. He didn’t knock, rather he just opened the door to find Harry laying on one of the twin beds, staring at the ceiling that was covered in Chudley Cannon posters, some were old, collectable posters that had once decorated Ron’s room at the Burrow, others were newer—posters Harry had collected over the past few years. Harry’s pictures were on his desk, his broom was in the corner, and Ron saw that his beater’s bat was resting next to it.  
  
"Dinner’s ready."  
  
"I’m going to eat in here," Harry said, still staring at the ceiling as the Cannon’s players in the posters flew about.  
  
"No, you’re not," Ron said, his voice sharp. "Your sister worked hard on this dinner and you’re going to show her that you appreciate it by sitting at the table with us."  
  
"I don’t want to eat dinner with _her_."  
  
Ron’s eyes narrowed as he pulled the door closed. He sat down on the bed and glared at Harry. "Let’s get something straight," he growled in a low voice. "You will be nothing but polite to Hermione or you won’t be welcome in this house."  
  
"You love her more than you love us," Harry snapped at him. "After what she did to you?"  
  
"I don’t owe you any explanations," Ron said, his voice still low because he didn’t want Hermione to hear anything. "But I want you to try and understand this—I’m treading on thin ice here and I don’t want to lose my son when I just found him."  
  
"So you have to kiss her arse?" Harry said, looking sickened. "That’s unfair."  
  
"Life is unfair." Ron sighed tiredly as he scrubbed both hands over his face and then ran them through his hair. "Maybe being with Hermione wouldn’t be so bad. I could do worse."  
  
"So, you do love her," Harry said, studying Ron’s face intently.  
  
"I used to love her very much," Ron said honestly, finding that it felt strange to say. "She and Uncle Harry were my best friends from first year. We did everything together."  
  
"I think I heard Ginny talk about her," Harry said, looking at Ron hesitantly. "She’s the one that’s real smart."  
  
"Yeah." Ron nodded, grinning. "She’s the smartest witch I know."  
  
"If she was your best friend, why’d she keep the baby from you?" Harry asked sadly.  
  
Ron sighed again. "I dunno, and being hacked off about it doesn’t really help anything at this point. I really want to make everything right for Philip, and I’m asking you not to be rude to Hermione."  
  
"I can’t just forgive her like you did," Harry said, shaking his head. "What she did was rotten."  
  
"Please, as a favor to me—Just don’t be rude," Ron pleaded, finding that he really felt desperate. "Don’t make it any harder on me."  
  
Harry’s shoulders slumped. "I’ll try," he said, sounding defeated.  
  
Ron reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Thank you."  
  
Harry sighed. "Yeah."  
  
"And you know I love you," Ron said solemnly. "This won’t change anything between us. You’ve got to have faith in your family. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?"  
  
"No, I guess not," Harry said, looking up and finally meeting his eyes.  
  
"Okay, then," Ron said as he stood up. "Then let’s go have dinner."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Dinner went surprisingly well. Hannah’s cooking was good. Hermione was impressed, and Philip ate what looked to be his own body weight in potatoes. Harry was almost pleasant and that did a lot to ease the tension in the house. Actually, it was kind of nice to have so many people around the dinner table. There was a side of Ron that really enjoyed having family around him. He supposed that it was a just part of being a Weasley. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a black sheep as his mother thought, because he could certainly get used to this.  
  
Ron insisted on cleaning up while Hermione gave Philip a bath and the twins got ready for bed. He was knee deep in dishes when a knock sounded on the door. He couldn’t fathom who it could be because it was getting late. He walked to the door, his wand in hand as he called out suspiciously, "Who is it?"  
  
"I still want to know how airplanes stay in the air."  
  
Ron grinned in spite of himself and opened the door obediently to see his father standing there with a small, burlap bag in his hand.  
  
"Hey, Dad," Ron said, eyeing the bag. "What’d you bring?"  
  
"Oh, um--" His father looked at the bag. "Just some things for the twins and a gift for the, um, b-baby."  
  
"Ah." Ron leaned against the doorway. "Mum sent you here."  
  
"She’s really upset," his father said, his voice almost pleading. "And you know how she gets when she’s upset—She says things she doesn’t mean."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "I’m not going to the Burrow just because she bought some gifts."  
  
"No," his father said, lifting the bag. "The gifts are from me."  
  
Ron smirked. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah," his father said, shrugging as his face flushed. "I never really know what to give anyone. It’s just a few things I thought they might enjoy. Harry said the baby likes blocks."  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You talked to Harry?"  
  
"He was at Ginny’s when I went over there."  
  
Ron shook his head and sighed in pity for his father. "She’s really got you making the rounds tonight."  
  
"Yeah," his dad said, looking at the ground again. "I know she said some awful things and she’s sick over it—She was just in shock. You can understand."  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Well," his father sighed, looking a bit lost. "Is the baby up?"  
  
Ron grinned. "He is. Would you like to see him?"  
  
"Yes," his father said quickly, his flush growing deeper as he cleared his voice. "I mean, yes, that’d be nice if it’s not too much trouble. I should have owled first."  
  
"Don’t be ridiculous," Ron said, clapping a hand on his father’s shoulder. "You know you don’t have to owl."  
  
"I’m really happy you’re marrying Hermione," his father said. "I always liked her very much."  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, pulling a face. "Don’t, um—Mention the marriage thing to her, okay?"  
  
His father frowned. "Why?"  
  
"I’m still sort of working on that part."  
  
"Ah," his father said in understanding. "I’m sure you’ll get it all worked out."  
  
"I hope so," Ron said, opening the door and calling out. "Granddad’s here!"  
  
The twins were thrilled to see him. Ron’s dad always had a very soothing nature and everyone liked him. Ron couldn’t help but smile when he gave Hannah a decorative comb for her hair. Having gone without for so long, all gifts were incredibly precious to Hannah. She immediately pulled up her hair, that she was the exact length and style as Ginny’s, and clipped it up.  
  
"How does it look?" she asked, turning to the side and modeling it.  
  
"Lovely," his father said, looking very pleased. "Your hair is like Ginny’s—Only, well, not red."  
  
"Lucky you," Ron said and Hannah swatted his arm. "It’s very pretty. The gold suits you. It would get lost in Ginny’s hair."  
  
"I think it looks hideous," Harry said, and then coughed when Ron gave him a look of horror. "Not the comb, Granddad. That’s very nice, even when it’s stuck in her ratty hair."  
  
"Shut up, Harry," Hannah said, turning to stick her tongue out at him, but the effort was wasted because Harry had already gone back to staring at the new Chudley Cannon’s poster his granddad had just given him.  
  
"Shut up! Shut up!" Philip sang as he danced around the blocks and his grandfather who had gotten on the ground to play with him. "Shut up!  
  
"That’s not a nice word, Hannah," Arthur said as he sat stacking blocks.  
  
"True," Ron agreed, his eyes still narrowed at Harry. "But the proper sentiment."  
  
"Well, I think it’s a beautiful gift," Hermione said, grinning down at Arthur. "It really is nice to see you again, Mr. Weasley. It has been way too long."  
  
"Indeed," he said, looking up from the blocks to smile at Hermione adoringly. Ron knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was pleased. He could practically feel his father’s questions vibrating off him. Wondering how Philip was being raised, if she still lived as a Muggle, and a million more queries that Hermione would probably answer patiently. But, he seemed more rapt with his new grandson at the moment and held the questions at bay as he turned around and resumed stacking blocks. "And really, Hermione, I must insist that you call me Arthur or Dad, even. Lots of my daughters in law--"  
  
Ron coughed, giving his father a look that made him blush.  
  
Hermione surprised him by laughing. "Arthur is fine and thank you for the blocks. Philip adores them."  
  
"You’re welcome," he said, turning back to Philip. "He’s very smart. Aren’t you, my friend?"  
  
As if acting on cue, Philip starting counting his blocks as he stacked them. Ron realized that he was a bit of a show off and again was reminded of Fred and George when they were little. When Philip switched to French, he was certain of the resemblance.  
  
"Bill’s children speak fluent French," his dad said, watching Philip with a delighted smile on his face. "He’ll have children to speak with at Christmas."  
  
"Dad," Ron said warningly.  
  
"He communicates in English quite well," Hermione said, once again easing the tension. "Though, most of the children he plays with do speak French. So I’m sure he’ll enjoy that very much."  
  
"Yeah," his father said, his voice sounding a bit lost as he stared at Philip. His eyes were glazed over and he was smiling. Finally, he looked up Ron with same expression of love in his eyes. "He’s just like you when you were little, Ronnie. The resemblance is uncanny. It’s like going back in time."  
  
"Good for an old man?" Ron asked.  
  
His father’s smile broadened. "Very good."  
  
  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Later that night, long after his father had left and all the kids had gone to sleep, Ron was still up. He sat at his desk that he had moved to his bedroom when he turned the office into a workspace that he could use to make furniture and other things that kept his hands busy. He took a long drink of whiskey and then rubbed at his temples.  
  
"My family makes me mental," he sighed, finding that he was developing a rather severe headache. "They are all going to descend on us tomorrow. Just wait and see."  
  
"You’re lucky to have so many people who love you, Ron," Hermione said, frowning at him when he started rolling a cigarette. "You really shouldn’t smoke in the house."  
  
"I know," he said and then licked the paper on his cigarette. "I’m gonna quit as soon as things settle down."  
  
Hermione sat on the bed, leaning back against her hands. "Is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
"Give me a new family."  
  
Hermione frowned at him. "You don’t mean that."  
  
Ron sighed. "I know.  
  
"It was really nice seeing your father. He seemed to really adore Philip," Hermione said as she got off the bed.  
  
She surprised him by massaging his shoulders, which felt nice and had the potential to relieve some of his tension, but he said, "Hermione, you don’t have to do that."  
  
"I want to."  
  
When she rubbed her thumb against a sore spot in the curve of his neck, he groaned, letting his head fall forward. "Then don’t let me stop you."  
  
Hermione laughed, stopping her work to tug at his shirt. "Take it off. It’ll make it easier."  
  
Ron pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it across the room without hesitation. He turned around more fully in the chair, giving Hermione free rein over his back as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and smoking his cigarette. He groaned again, blowing out the smoke slowly as she started kneading her thumbs into the knotted muscles at the base of his neck.  
  
"Hermione, that feels really good."  
  
"You’re all knotted up," Hermione said, digging her thumb deeper. "Am I hurting you?"  
  
"Nope," he said, taking another draw off his cigarette. "Abuse me at will."  
  
Hermione laughed again. "You’re a pervert."  
  
"Mmmm, hmmm," he agreed, wishing that he could just lay his head down on the desk. He reached around, pointing to a spot lower on his back near his spine. "Rub there."  
  
"Here?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, right there," he groaned. Now that she was working on his lower back, he gave in and fell against his desk, resting his cheek on his folded arms. "Blimey, but I’ve got a massive headache."  
  
"It’s stress."  
  
"Very likely," he agreed and managed to take a drink from his whiskey despite the awkward position. "God, my mother hacks me off sometimes."  
  
"I don’t think whiskey will help your headache," Hermione said, ignoring his jab at his mother.  
  
"Oh, I disagree," Ron said, turning his head to smirk at her. "It’s starting to work nicely."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Smoking will kill you," she said as he took another long draw off his cigarette. "So will drinking."  
  
"I’m going to die from the high blood pressure my family gives me long before this other stuff does the job. That or some stray curse delivered by a Death Eater with more luck than me for the day."  
  
"That’s not funny, Ron!"  
  
"It’s kinda funny."  
  
Hermione poked him in the ribs, "No, it’s not."  
  
"Maybe I’m hoping for death," he said, mashing his cigarette out in the ashtray, and hiding his face in the curves of his arms as Hermione resumed her work on his back. "I think it’s preferable to facing all of them tomorrow."  
  
"You don’t even know that they’re coming. They haven’t owled."  
  
"I know," he said, certain of that if nothing else. "My family doesn’t owl. They just descend on you like Dementors. They sense misery and feed off it."  
  
"How will they even know?"  
  
"They already know," Ron assured her. "Ginny will tell Fred and George, trying to be helpful by getting to them before my mother does. She’ll tell them to go easy on me, which they won’t. Then they’ll tell Bill and Charlie, because they gossip like two teenage girls and all four of them will be on my doorstep tomorrow with the excuse to see Philip when they actually just want to see me miserable. It’ll be the highlight of the holidays for them. Nothing this exciting has happened since Fleur left Bill to go stay with her mother two Christmases ago."  
  
"They broke up?" Hermione asked in a surprised voice.  
  
"No, they were just fighting but they made up," Ron said and then laughed. "Ruined Ginny’s whole Christmas when they did. She was very festive the week that Fleur was gone. She even threw a party. Well, it wasn’t really a party. Just all of us getting pissed out of our minds and listening to Bill cry over Fleur for four hours. It was great fun."  
  
"So you fed off Bill’s misery?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I sucked it all up and laughed my arse off," Ron said, grinning to himself as his head fell back against his arms. "I never said I wasn’t the same. It’s part of our genetic make up. We can’t help it, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it."  
  
"I think you’re over exaggerating," Hermione huffed.  
  
"I really wish I were," Ron said, groaning again when she hit a tight spot. "What we need is a good hiding place. I’m not staying here tomorrow like a sacrificial lamb just to feed their boring, domesticated lives with chaos."  
  
"You’re still all knotted up," Hermione declared, taking her hands off him. Ron instantly mourned the lost of her touch, moaning in complaint. "Maybe you need a potion for your nerves."  
  
"I have a potion for my nerves," Ron said, taking a long drink of his whiskey, emptying the glass before he rasped, "Give me another hour and I’ll be stress free."  
  
He sat up and reached for the bottle of Fire Whiskey, but Hermione took it out of his hands and set it back on the desk. "I meant a real potion for your nerves, not this vile stuff."  
  
"I don’t have a potion for my nerves," he said evenly. " And before you ask, I don’t have a cauldron and I don’t have ingredients, because if you happen to remember, I hate potion making."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Well, I’m not going to sit here and watch you make yourself sick."  
  
"I’ll likely just pass out, and I need the bliss of unconsciousness. I’m never getting to sleep otherwise. So feel free to lay there and ignore me," he said, turning back and grabbing his bottle of whiskey, filling his glass up. "Better yet, I’ll go sleep on the couch. My mother will probably have a coronary if the twins mention that we’re sleeping in the same room."  
  
"I don’t care what your mother thinks," Hermione said softly, looking up at him when he stood.  
  
"Nether do I," he assured her, taking another drink. "But her hysterics give me a headache. Be sure to mention to her that I was a gentleman and gave you the bed, since it seems my mother has me pegged as some sort of oafish arsehole who forces women."  
  
Hermione gaped. "She didn’t say that."  
  
Ron smiled grimly and took another drink. "No, she wasn’t that nice."  
  
"Okay," Hermione said, reaching forward and taking his drink out of his hand. She walked to his desk, setting it there. "We’ll figure something else out then. Something that doesn’t require you consuming a toxic substance and passing out on the couch."  
  
"Did you miss the part where I said I had no cauldron?" Ron asked her. "And don’t even suggest tea unless it’s flavored like brandy."  
  
Hermione put her hand to her forehead, taking a deep breath. "Just shut up, Ron."  
  
"That’s not a nice word, Hermione," Ron said, mimicking his father’s words from earlier.  
  
She gave a small, hysterical laugh and then lowered her hand. "Are you drunk now?"  
  
"Not nearly enough, no," he assured her.  
  
Hermione frowned, looking back at the bottle that was already half empty. "How much can you drink?"  
  
"Let’s find out," he said, walking towards the desk. "I was planning on finishing the bottle, but if that doesn’t work I have a perfectly good bottle of brandy to chase it with."  
  
"I said, no!" she snapped at him.  
  
Ron leaned back against his desk, studying her as he took another drink. "I’m not Philip."  
  
"Really?" Hermione said, her face flushed, "because you’re acting like him."  
  
"Philip makes a habit of drinking Fire Whiskey and smoking?" Ron asked, smirking. "Let’s not tell my mother that. You could fall off that pedestal she’s put you on."  
  
"You are really trying my patience tonight."  
  
Ron smiled over the rim of his glass. "Join the club. Contact my mother, as she’s the acting President. They have buttons and everything."  
  
"You are sulking and being a huge baby about this," Hermione said sharply.  
  
"You weren’t there," Ron reminded her. "If you were, you’d be drinking with me."  
  
"Probably," Hermione agreed as she approached him and took his drink once more.  
  
"You drink?" Ron asked, leaning down to smell her hair that she had braided when she got out of the shower.  
  
"I have wine on occasion."  
  
"I’d offer you some, but I don’t have any wine," Ron said, tilting his head to look down her nightdress, seeing the curve of her breasts. "Whiskey works faster and wine gives me a headache in the morning."  
  
"It’s the sulfites in it," she said reasonably. "You can buy wine without them."  
  
"I’ll have to do that."  
  
"Yes, you do that," Hermione said, folding her arms under her chest, which gave him a better view. "Do you want me to help you with your stress?"  
  
Ron lazily lifted his gaze to her eyes, seeing the determination in them and he asked, "What did you have in mind?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip as she shrugged. "I had a few ideas."  
  
"Well, let’s hear them."  
  
She shook her head. "I can’t say it. It’ll sound vulgar."  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows, the whiskey losing some of its appeal almost instantly. "How vulgar?"  
  
A smile tugged at the edge of her lips. "Take off your jeans and I’ll show you."  
  
Ron considered her, seeing her standing there with her hair braided, wisps of it framing her flushed face. Her nightdress was royal blue tonight; held up by two, thin silk straps. It clung to her hips and fell down to her ankles and he actually leaned sideways against the desk, tilting his head as he studied her in it. He raised his gaze, once again staring at the dip in the neckline, showing off a little cleavage but not nearly enough.  
  
Hermione gave him a bored stare. "Are you done?"  
  
"Okay," he said, straightening back up.  
  
"Okay, what?" she said, giving him a puzzled expression.  
  
"Okay, I’ll let you show me what’s so vulgar and risk the wrath of my mother when the twins open their big mouths and tell her I’m sleeping here with you rather than on the couch where I belong."  
  
"Oh, right," Hermione said, seeming a bit frazzled. "I’ll just, um, go set a Locking and Silencing spell on the door."  
  
"One way," Ron reminded her when she went to the nightstand and grabbed her wand. "So we can hear if the kids wake up. The twins have nightmares sometimes."  
  
"Right," Hermione said, going to the door. With her back to him, Ron downed the rest of his whiskey and set it the glass back on the table. "I heard that, Ronald."  
  
"I don’t care, Hermione," he said when she turned around, glaring at the now empty glass. "I have free will. It’s a God-given right."  
  
"Yet you do so poorly with it," she observed sarcastically.  
  
"Most days," he agreed. "You should marry me and save me from my sinful ways."  
  
"I think we’ll settle for stress relief and vulgarity tonight."  
  
Ron shrugged. "You can’t blame a bloke for trying."  
  
"Yes, I know and it was the most touching proposal to date," Hermione said, walking towards him. "A sinful man, what every girl dreams of."  
  
"I don’t care about every girl," he said, looking down at the top of her head when she approached him and started pulling at the button to his jeans. "Do you dream of a sinful man, more importantly _this_ sinful man?"  
  
"You’re drunk," she observed, working his jeans down past his hips.  
  
"A little," he agreed, finally pushing her away to kick the jeans aside. "Marry me."  
  
"No," she said, now tugging at his pants. "You’re supposed to be sinful, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, okay," he said, reaching for his tobacco tin. He had one already rolled and thanking himself for his forethought, he put it in his mouth and lit it.  
  
Hermione now kneeling in front of him tossed his pants aside and glared up at him. "You are not smoking while I’m doing this."  
  
"I’m trying to be sinful," he said, setting his wand down and taking a long draw off his cigarette. He blew the smoke upwards and then grinned at her. "Just like you told me."  
  
"Fine," she said in a tight voice and then started mumbling under her breath. "Stubborn, pig headed, totally self destructive--"  
  
Her complaints stopped because she did something then that caused Ron to suck in such a deep breath of shock that he choked on his cigarette in a way he hadn’t since he was nineteen. He was still coughing as he croaked out. "Fuck me, Hermione!"  
  
"Yes, that’s the general principal," she said, her hand running down the length of his cock that was now rock hard. Despite his shock, it seemed that part of him quite liked what Hermione did. She arched a superior eyebrow at him. "Feel free to resume your sinful ways. Don’t let me stop you."  
  
"I’m not the one that’s sinful," he said, taking another draw off his cigarette as Hermione suggested. "Where’d you learn that?"  
  
"I’m not totally naïve, Ron," she said condescendingly. "Just because I’ve never done it doesn’t mean I don’t know the basic applications of how it’s done."  
  
Ron’s shoulders sagged in relief and he felt a bit better. It had felt entirely too good when she’d taken him into her mouth and for a moment he realized that while she may have not slept with another man, she could have likely done other things with one. Knowing she was applying a textbook method to sucking him off rather than actual hands on knowledge relieved him.  
  
"It felt good," he rasped.  
  
"Shall I resume then?" she asked in an annoyed, sarcastic voice.  
  
He frowned. "I dunno," he said, still completely thrown off as he admitted, "I’ve never done this before."  
  
Hermione smiled then, looking very pleased. "Then it’ll be educational for both of us."  
  
"Very," he said, still feeling uncertain as he took another draw off his cigarette and ended up choking because of it. She’d taken him in her mouth again, this time deeper, running her tongue along the underside of his cock in a way that made his eyes roll back. "Holy fuck," he moaned, his hands falling back against the desk, destroying his cigarette that was probably going to cause a small fire, but he didn’t care because what she was doing had pure, white hot lust racing through his veins and pleasure spilling into his lower extremities. "Fuck," he groaned again, leaning heavily back against the desk. "I should not be standing for this."  
  
Hermione released him, giving a small laugh as she licked the head of his cock, her face a mask of curiosity as she studied him. "I think you’ll be fine."  
  
"Yeah, okay, you think that," Ron said as she continued to lick and stroke him. "I am going to be so hacked off at myself for being drunk for this. I know it."  
  
"Likely," Hermione murmured, her breath hot against him. "Regret, surely a problem that plagues every sinful man."  
  
Ron couldn’t even think of a response because she had taken him in her mouth again and her hands were doing really wonderful things, like cupping his balls and stroking him and he just gave up on any notion of being coherent.  
  
Eventually he fell into the chair, because the combination of whiskey and Hermione’s mouth really had made it impossible for him to remain standing. "I’m dying," he moaned, his head falling back against the chair. On their own accord, Ron’s hands found her head as he held her against him, her long braid wrapped around his fingers.  
  
"You’re not dying," Hermione whispered against him.  
  
"No, fuck, I am," he gasped when she sucked him again. "I think you need to stop because I’m gonna--" He moaned again, his eyes squeezing shut, robbing him of the erotic picture of Hermione on her knees in front of him, because she sucked him again. "Hermione, shit, you’ve got to stop."  
  
She didn’t stop.  
  
Maybe if he had been sober he would have stopped her. Ron would never know, because she finally pushed him over the edge, and climax slammed into him without warning. He didn’t even know what he said as pleasure pulsed through him, beating in his head and through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He had never felt anything that extreme, that all encompassing and it felt like every drop of stress just ran out of his body, something that he would have thought was impossible just a few minutes earlier.  
  
"Definitely educational," Hermione said when she finally released him. "It doesn’t taste horrible."  
  
Ron covered his face with his hands, groaning. "You did not say that," he mumbled past his fingers and then lifted his hands, looking down to see Hermione was licking her lips. "You did not do that."  
  
"Yes, I did," she affirmed for him, a smug smile on her face. "Did it help?"  
  
Ron laughed then, and for some reason the words were right there on the tip of his tongue, because he felt it—that swelling of total adoration of her. It was so blinding it hurt his chest and he realized that he did still love her. She could break his heart because it belonged to her, it always had. She had stolen it a long time ago, perhaps before he understood he could lose it, and he knew now that he was never getting it back.  
  
"Yeah," he said, still smiling. He couldn’t say the words to her, but he couldn’t deny them to himself either. "It helped."  
  
"Success!" Hermione said, giving him a wide smile before she sobered. "I really am sorry about your mother. I never meant to make things so hard for you."  
  
Ron shrugged, still overwhelmed with feelings for her and touched that she cared about all the stress he was under. "They aren’t so hard," he lied. "I’m just prone to dramatics, another horrible Weasley trait. Do you want a drink?"  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, looking at the door. "I’ve already locked the door."  
  
"Here," he said, turning around and grabbing his glass. He opened the drawer of his desk. Knowing instinctively that Hermione would hate whiskey, he opted for the bottle of brandy that Fred and George had given him last Christmas. "This is actually really good stuff. It goes down nice. I save it for special occasions."  
  
"Like your mother disowning you?"  
  
"Yeah, occasions like those," he said, pouring her a drink and handing it to her. "Try it."  
  
Hermione eyed the glass, but then surprised him by taking it from him and having a drink. "Oh," she said, her voice husky. "It is good."  
  
"I told you," he grinned. "It’s horribly expensive. I would have never bought it for myself, but Fred and George have been known to give good gifts. I take that back, they give good gifts after you’ve opened the one that turns your eyes red and makes everyone in the room think you’re Voldemort."  
  
Hermione took another drink and laughed. "They didn’t do that."  
  
"Yes, they did," he assured her. "I thought my mother would lose her voice from all the screeching she did. She seemed to think Voldemort would show up at our door and kill us all for mocking him. I thought it was funny, even if I had to wear sunglasses for three days. No glamour would fix them."  
  
Hermione sat back against the carpet; her legs folded to the side as she studied him and drank the brandy. She didn’t say anything, just looked contemplative and it made him nervous so he took a drink of the brandy straight out of the bottle. It was nice. Much better than Fire Whiskey and he was amazed it had stayed in his drawer for a whole year.  
  
"Finish that, will you?" Ron said, gesturing at her glass with the bottle in his hand. "You’re sipping it like a girl."  
  
"I am a girl," she said, taking another drink and then smiling at him over the rim. "Well, woman, actually."  
  
"I realize that," Ron said, tilting his head once more and eyeing her sitting there on the floor in his bedroom. God, she looked gorgeous in that blue nightdress that clung to her in all the right places. He set the bottle on his desk and slipped onto the floor with her. He took the glass out of her fingers and downed the rest of the brandy in one gulp. "You were taking too long," he said when she gasped indignantly.  
  
"Are we on a time schedule?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, I’ve got a few vulgar, yet educational ideas of my own," he said, setting the glass on the floor and then crawling over her, making Hermione fall onto her back on the ground. He let his eyes run down her body for one hot moment before he lifted his head and looked into her smoldering brown eyes. "I’m good with my mouth, too."  
  
"I know," she said with a grin. "I remember."  
  
"Do you?" Ron asked in false seriousness. "You don’t need me to remind you?"  
  
"Well," she said, reaching up and running her fingers through the sweaty fringe on his forehead, brushing it aside. "The brandy may have made the memories a bit foggy. I could use a refresher course—for educational purposes."  
  
"For educational purposes, huh?" he said, grinning. "It just so happens that I’ve always been a strong advocate for education."


	23. Chapter 23

"Ronnie!"

Ron groaned, staring at Fred in annoyance. "I knew Ginny’s was a bad hiding place."

"We knew you’d be here," Fred said, opening the door wider. "Hermione, you look as lovely as I remember."

"Yeah, okay," Ron said, walking inside and hefting Philip on his hip. "How many did you bring?"

"All of them," Fred said, wincing. "My wife needed a break. The twins are driving her insane."

"Great," Ron said dryly, looking to Hermione. "We should have covered Philip in full body armor."

"I’m sure it’s fine," Hermione said, walking into the house behind Ron and eyeing Fred with keen eyes. "It’s nice to see you--Fred."

"Impressive." Fred grinned, opening his arms. "Do you have a hug for your new brother in law?"

"Jesus," Ron said, shaking his head.

Hermione didn’t seem to mind the comment as Fred hugged Hermione to him, nearly crushing her. "You’re thin," he said, pulling away. "But, no worries, Mum will put two stone on you at Christmas."

"And so it starts," Ron said, giving another huff of frustration as Harry and Hannah walked in. "I assume you brought your twin with you."

"Of course. We’re all here," Fred said, hugging Hannah. "Another one who’s too thin." Fred pulled away, studying Hannah. "But, you’re still lovely. How are you?"

"I’m good," Hannah said, grinning at him. "It’s nice to see you, Uncle Fred."

"See, someone is glad to see me," Fred said smugly to Ron.

"She’s young and blinded by your glaring personality."

"You," Fred said, ignoring Ron’s jibe as he pulled Harry to him, hugging him despite his protests. "Ginny told us you got booted out of school."

"I’ll be sure to thank her for you," Ron said dryly to Harry. "I have a few things to thank her for myself."

"What does he care?" Fred turned to pull a face at Ron. "Who would I be to lecture him on stuff like that? Besides, I’m family."

Ron rolled his eyes. "How unfortunate for him."

"You are in a rotten mood," Fred said, finally walking over to Ron and leaning down to look at Philip. He was grinning ear to ear as he said, "Hey, Philip!"

"Hi," Philip said, pointing to Fred’s hair that was long, hanging almost to his shoulders. "Red! Same!" he said, gesturing to Ron’s hair and his own. "Same red."

"It is the same," Fred agreed, still smiling and to his credit, appearing to be very excited when he met Ron’s eyes. "Cor, but he looks like you. I thought Ginny was exaggerating. Harry’s completely daft for not knowing. He’s you at two."

"Harry didn’t know me at two," Ron reminded him.

"True," Fred said, turning his attention back to Philip. "You want to come seem Uncle Freddy?"

Ron wasn’t surprised when Philip reached out to him.  Both Fred and George had a way with children, which did make sense as they acted like kids ninety percent of the time.

"Oh, my, God, you’re heavy," Fred said, dropping Philip and then catching him before he hit the ground, making Hermione gasp and clutch her chest. Philip loved it and squealed in laughter when Fred stumbled back, pretending to lose his balance until he fell on the couch, holding a laughing Philip up in the air. "We’ll play Quidditch!" Fred said, making dives with Philip, holding him high and then dropping him so low he nearly touched the ground.

"Snitch!" Philip yelled.

"Yeah, he does spend time with Harry," Fred said, rolling his eyes and then dropping him low once more. "We need to talk about the joys of being a Beater. You get to hit stuff! You like to hit stuff, Philip?"

"Hit stuff!" Philip yelled enthusiastically.

"Yay! Hit stuff!" Fred said, still playing imaginary Quidditch with Philip. "We’ll clear all that brain washing Uncle Harry’s been doing from your mind by this afternoon."

"Hit stuff, Mummy!"

"Yes, I see," Hermione said, giving Fred a strained smile before she turned to Ron. "Please tell me he isn’t going to drop my son."

"He won’t drop him," Ron said, smiling at her. "Fred could do stuff like this all day long and not get tired."

"Imaginary Quidditch," George said, barreling into the room, a whole line of children following him. "Yes!"

Hermione gasped again when George grabbed Philip out of Fred’s arms in one swift motion.

"So can George," Ron said when he saw Hermione was clutching her chest. "Don’t worry, all of their children have managed to stay alive so far, in spite of their fathers."

"How many trips to Saint Mungo’s?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

Ron pulled a face. "A few."

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." Hermione turned back to stare at George, who was now lying back on Ginny’s oriental rug, Philip held high above him, screeching and laughing. She said, "Hello, George."

"Hey, Hermione," George said, tilting his head back to smile at her. "You ended up with a kid that looks just like my brother Ronnie. It’s very bizarre."

"Not that bizarre," Hermione said, grinning down at him.

George’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. "No, I suppose not."

"I want to see him," Charlie said, coming into the room and grabbing Philip right out of George’s hands. Charlie held him at arms length, studying him.  "Cor, that’s weird. I thought Ginny was exaggerating."

"I need alcohol," Ron sighed, dropping his jacket on the sofa. "Lots of it."

"What’d you bring us?"

"Nothing," Ron said, looking down at Fred’s twins, each wearing identical, gapped toothed smiles of hope. "But, I may bring you some gifts for Christmas."

"Imaginary Quidditch!" Claire said, jumping up.

"No," Ron said, turning his back on the twins.

"He’s in a bad mood," David said in disappointment.

"Daddy said he might be."

Ron dived at the kids when they didn’t expect it, making them both yell and run, but not fast enough. He caught Claire around the waist and had her up in the air, high above his head, her braids brushing against his face. "Tell me how bad you’ve been?" he asked, grinning up at her.

"Very bad!" she squealed.

"Are you sure?" he said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I’m not buying you anything unless you’ve been completely rotten."

"Mummy said we’re getting nothing but coal for Christmas," David said proudly, wrapping himself around Ron’s leg.

With the added weight of David clinging to his leg, Ron pretended to stumble forward, leaning over so quick Claire let out a high pitched squeal as her braids brushed against the ground.

"Nothing but coal?" Ron asked, looking down at David as he tossed Claire over his shoulder. "Why should I believe you?"

David gave him a gapped tooth grin. "It’s true, Uncle Ron."

"Well, you should be nice to your mom," Ron amended. "But, your dad--"

"Rotten!" Claire and David said unanimously.

"That’s right," Ron said, walking back into the living room, David still wrapped around his leg, Claire still giggling over his right shoulder. He saw that Fred, George and Charlie were all playing imaginary Quidditch with the other children. Fred wasn’t the only one who had brought his children. Ron spotted three of George’s, and both of Charlie’s in the mix with Ginny’s kids. Bill’s were all absent, but then, they always were. Fleur wouldn’t usually let them come to Ginny’s unless she was there with them, which was next to never.

Ron walked up to Hermione, who was talking with Bill. "Hermione, let me introduce you to my niece and nephew." He lifted his leg, which was still weighted down by a grinning seven year old. "This is David," he said and then turned around, showing off Claire who was giggling over his shoulder. "And this is Claire."

"They’re adorable" she said, her smile wide.

"Remember these two faces in particular," Bill told her.

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

"Why?" Ron asked them, looking down at David expectantly.

"Because we’re rotten!" They yelled unison.

"They are sort of rotten," Bill said, his voice full of caution. "Never take anything from them or shake their hands or--"

"They are by far--" Ron reached down and picked up David, tossing him over his other shoulder before he turned by to Hermione. "Our favorite niece and nephew."

"True," Bill agreed, smirking at her. "They restore our faith in the universe."

Hermione shook her head, "I don’t understand."

"No, no, no!" Fred said, running up and handing Philip to Hermione before he pulled Claire off Ron’s right shoulder. "Stay away from my children."

"You love Uncle Ron," Ron said, pulling David off his other shoulder and throwing him up, catching him when he was near the ground. "Tell your dad!"

"We love Uncle Ron!" The twins said, once again in unison.

Ron grinned at David. "I love you, too."

"Yeah, you love to encourage them to torture me," Fred said, giving Ron a glare as he put Claire on his shoulders and then grabbed David out of Ron’s hands. "Stop paying them to be misbehave! I’m serious, Ron. They don’t need the encouragement. They do fine on their own."

"Can we play with the baby?" Claire asked.

"Not until he’s old enough to defend himself," Fred said, holding David, who was now laughing hysterically, under one arm, while Claire wrapped her legs around her dad’s neck and her fingers threaded into his long hair. "Hermione, my twins, David and Claire."

"We’ve met," Hermione said, giving Fred an odd smile. "You’re a real father, Fred."

Fred smirked back. "I try to be, yeah," he said before he pointed into the crowd of kids. "The other girl with braids like Claire, that’s Angel, my oldest and the other boy, Brandon, he’s—Well, you know which ones are mine. They are the only ones that look like me and Angelina mixed," he said, turning back to her. "Those two--" he said, gesturing to where Angel and Brandon were still playing with their uncles, "--are child proof. They’re fine with Philip, but don’t let the twins play with the baby. I’d hate to beat them for changing his hair purple."

Claire laughed. "You don’t beat us!"

"That’s half your problem," Bill said, smirking.

"Yeah, like you beat your kids," Fred said, rolling his eyes.

"True, I don’t," Bill said, eyeing Claire for a second. "But, my children never burnt down my shed or caused a riot in Diagon Alley or put glue powder in all of my underwear."

Ron laughed. "That was my favorite." He turned to Hermione and explained, "Angelina couldn’t even cut them off him they were stuck so good."

"Shut up, Ron," Fred growled at him before he lifted his arm, giving David a stern look. "If you put glue powder in my underwear again I will beat you."

"It was pretty funny," Claire giggled.

"Very funny," David agreed, also laughing. "Mom said he was as smooth as a baby’s bottom for months after that."

Ron leaned over, clutching his side he was laughing so hard.

Bill was laughing just as hard as he said, "That was pretty classic. How much did you have to drink to peel those things off?"

"I had a hangover for two days afterwards that no spell would fix," Fred affirmed. "Happy?"

"Totally delighted," Ron assured him as he tilted his head, looking at David. "Don’t worry about the coal in your stocking. I’m getting you the best gifts."

"Ron, you really shouldn’t encourage them," Hermione said, her voice reprimanding.

"Thank you, Hermione," Fred sighed. "I knew I liked you."

Hermione smirked, looking up at Claire, who had long, light brown braids that hung around her shoulders, a bright smile and freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose. "They’re beautiful children, Fred," she said, her voice mystified. "I really can’t believe they cause you that much trouble."

"The faces are a ruse," Fred said, giving her a strained smile. "God made them cute so we wouldn’t kill them."

"I see," Hermione said, now looking at Claire and David hesitantly.

When Fred set them both down, telling them to go play with their other uncles, she shifted Philip to her other hip and Bill leaned over, studying Philip’s face intently.

"God, I thought Ginny was exaggerating," Bill rasped, still staring at Philip before he lifted his eyes to Ron. "He looks just like you. Mum is going to go mental over him once she calms down. You have to come for Christmas."

Ron sighed, shaking his head and turning to Hermione. "I told you."

 

 

~*~

"No!"

Ron was lying under the cabinet in Ginny’s kitchen. He had hoped that the excuse of a project would distract his brothers from their harping about Christmas, marriage and endless other things that annoyed him. He also wanted to keep them away from Hermione, who was in the living room with Ginny playing with the children. While working on rearranging Ginny’s kitchen for the cooling cabinet had worked at keeping his brothers from annoying Hermione, it hadn’t helped at all with them annoying him—In fact, it had made it worse.

"Ron, you have to come for Christmas," Fred whined, leaning over him and being very little help as he took a long drink of ale. "It won’t be the same without you and we all want to see Philip."

"No," Ron said again, scooting farther under Ginny’s kitchen cabinets more because Fred’s hovering was irritating him than anything. He took a long draw off his cigarette and leaned over to see the magical tape measure that he had set up to measure Ginny’s cabinets before he moved them. "Thirty-eight across," he yelled and then lifted his head, peering past Fred to Bill who was sitting at the kitchen counter. Bill had a quill in his hand, but he was taking a drink out of his own ale bottle and talking to Charlie instead of writing. "Damn it, Bill. The least you could do is write the numbers down."

"Right, sorry," Bill said, turning around. "What was it?"

"Thirty- eight across."

Bill wrote it down and then leaned down, flatting his cheek against the table. "You’re in a shit mood."

"Tell your brother to stop hovering," Ron said, using his foot to kick Fred. "He’s irritating me."

"Be useful, Fred," Charlie grunted as he worked at moving one of the other cabinets. "Stop pestering him. I can’t fucking blame him for not coming. If I had an excuse I’d skip it too. This year I plan to start drinking before I get to the Burrow instead of searching for the alcohol you lot have already drank once I get there."

"I love Christmas at the Burrow," George said, walking over and helping Charlie move the cabinet.

"That’s because you two--" he said, looking from Fred to George. "--thrive off chaos. The rest of us are sane."

"I like Christmas at the Burrow," Bill interjected.

"Fine, correction, Ron and I are sane," Charlie said, grunting again and glaring at Bill. "Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be locked up in Ginny’s office doing her taxes or something?"

"She’s still not talking to me," Bill said with a grin before taking another drink. "She says she’s officially disowned me and has taken to calling me ‘it.’"

"Well, you’re not fucking her," Ron mused, looking up at the top of Ginny’s cabinet.

Bill coughed. "That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard."

"No, I mean, she can’t be mad at Harry because he still provides a valuable service," Ron said, taking a draw off his cigarette. He never had to explain things like this to Ginny. She got him better than all of his siblings. "That leaves you as the sole target for her irritation. Look for it to be New Year’s before she starts speaking to you again."

"What did you and Harry do to her?" George asked Bill. "I still don’t get it."

Ron coughed and Bill cleared his throat. "Nothing, don’t worry about it."

"Whatever, we’ll find out," Fred said and then leaned over, looking under the cabinet to Ron. "Are you coming for Christmas?"

"No," Ron said again, flicking ashes on the ground. "Will you please leave me the fuck alone about it?"

"So what, you’re never going to talk to Mum again?" Fred asked. "You’re going to just avoid the Burrow forever?"

"That’s the tentative plan, yes," Ron said and then lifted his head, studying the cabinet closer. "You know, I think this wood is rotting. We’ll need to replace it instead of just move it."

"Damn it," Charlie growled and Ron heard the sound of a cabinet being dropped. "Who let him under there? I’m not replacing all the wood, Ron. I can’t rebuild Ginny’s whole kitchen, and add two more bedrooms and build this cooling thing you’re rambling about. I have a life and a job and a family."

"Then don’t help me," Ron said, and then leaned up to grab the pocketknife in his jeans. He flipped the blade open and scraped it against the top of the cabinet. He winced, tilting his head to the side when it all crumbled beneath the blade. "It’s definitely rotted. She must have a leak in the plumbing."

"Bloody hell," Charlie said, now standing at Ron’s feet. He leaned over and glared at him. "Stop creating projects to do. None of this is going to fix your problems with Mum or Hermione or the baby. The wood isn’t rotten, you obsessive fuck."

Ron took a draw on his cigarette, considering Charlie who was still glaring at him. With the cigarette still in his mouth, he leaned up and used his knife to break off a piece of wood and then tossed it none too gently at his brother, watching with satisfaction when it bounced off his forehead.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, but he leaned down and picked up the wood anyway. He studied it for a second before he threw it down. "Fuck me, the damn cabinet is rotten! We’re going to have to replace it."

"Must be the plumbing," Ron mused, turning his head to the side and studying the wood near the ground. "These cabinets aren’t that old."

"Yeah, Ron, I realize that," Charlie said, now leaning down to study the cabinet himself. "I helped you build them three years ago when you were freaking out over something," he said, getting on his hands and knees. "Damn it, Fred, budge up. He’s not going to the Burrow. Give up and make yourself useful for a change."

Ron moved over when Charlie ended up next to him, both of them laying on their backs and studying the cabinet. "We’re going to need better wood this time," Ron said, shaking his head. "Something more durable. Damn, I really liked these cabinets."

"Me too," Charlie said and then reached over, taking the cigarette out of Ron’s mouth. He took a long draw off of it and slowly blew the smoke upwards. "This is a fucking shame and it’s two cabinets over from the sinks."

"I know," Ron sighed, pulling his tobacco tin out and started rolling another cigarette because he knew Charlie wasn’t going to return his. "That means they’re probably all ruined."

"What shit luck," Charlie said as he put Ron’s cigarette out on the floorboard of the cabinet. "Roll me another one, will ya, Ronnie?"

"Why I am the supplier for everyone’s bad habits?" Ron asked, lighting his own cigarette before he started rolling another one. "Be a man and buy your own fucking cigarettes."

"Mum would go mental," Charlie said, smirking at Ron who had turned his head, looking at him belligerently, but his brother didn’t seem to care as he reached over and took the cigarette out of Ron’s mouth. "I’ll just take this one."

"You’re not funny."

"Oh, stop looking at me like that," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "I’m the one whose going to help you build these fucking cabinets and build those rooms and probably even that cooling whatever. The least you could do is roll me a fucking cigarette for the effort."

"True," Ron said grudgingly as he lit his new cigarette. "Fred and George are almost as useless as Bill. They just drink all the ale."

Ron and Charlie lay there shoulder to shoulder, smoking and not doing anything but hiding from the rest of their brothers.

"Cho hates when I smoke," Charlie said as he blew smoke upwards. "I’d buy my own, but she’d go mental if she found a tin of tobacco in my jeans. It’s easier to steal from you then stress over hiding it."

 "Hermione hates it, too," Ron sighed. "I’ll probably have to quit here soon."

"That’s unfortunate," Charlie said sadly. "I’ll have to steal from Harry and he smokes those awful Muggle cigarettes with the filters."

"I like ‘em," Ron said, turning to grin at Charlie. "They’re already rolled."

"Mmm," Charlie hummed, happily smoking as he took Ron’s knife and ran it along the top of the cabinet. They both jerked to the side when specks of wood fell. "What a rotted mess. It’s a wonder it didn’t start smelling."

"I’ll bet you two galleons it did, and Ginny just cast a deodorant charm rather than tell us they were stinking."

Charlie snorted. "I’m not taking that bet. I know that’s exactly what she did." He rolled on his side, running Ron’s knife along the edge. "It’s not so bad down here. Why’d it just rot up top?"

"I dunno," Ron said, also rolling on his side and expecting the other end of the cabinet. "You think we can save the bottom and just replace the top?"

"No, it’s all ruined. Why do it halfway?"

"Are you two snogging down there?" George asked.

"Yeah, we’re snogging," Charlie said sarcastically. "You pegged it."

"I’m telling Cho you’re smoking."

"I’m really worried about that, George," Charlie mumbled past his cigarette. "I’ve got so much shit on you that you’d take up permanent residence on the couch if I ever decided to talk with Denise."

"I think Fred’s right, Ronnie," George said, obviously deciding to ignore Charlie and torture Ron instead. "You need to come to Burrow for Christmas."

"Let me kill them," Ron whispered.

Charlie laughed, turning around to look at Ron. "I can’t do that. Even if they’re a punishment for some sort of past life sin, they’re still my brothers."

"Just injure them a little, then?"

"Yeah, fine," Charlie said, squinting as he took another puff of his cigarette. "You can injure them. I’ll even hold them down for you."

"Excellent," Ron said, grinning.

"I dare you to try and injure me," Fred said, back to hovering over the cabinet.

"I dunno, Freddy," Charlie said. "He hunts Death Eaters for a living and you sell toys designed to irritate parents of small children. My money’s on Ron."

"Mine too," Bill said, leaning down over the cabinet. "Is it really rotten?"

"Get the fuck out of here," Charlie said, kicking Bill’s leg. "Like you can do a damn thing about it. I had to fix your shower last week."

"I think you should go the Burrow," Bill said seriously to Ron. "All joking aside, it’ll break Mum’s heart if you don’t."

"Guess what, Bill," Ron said, glaring at him. "I don’t care."

"You never care. That’s you’re problem," Bill snapped at him and then waved his hand in front of his face. "And you can’t keep smoking now that you’re a parent."

"He told you to get the fuck out," Ron said as he kicked Bill’s legs the same as Charlie had. "Leave me alone."

"Fine," Bill said, throwing up his hands. "Let the two of them snog and smoke cigarettes down there for the rest of the afternoon."

"Good plan," Charlie growled. "I’d tell you to make yourself useful but I’d be wasting my breath. Fred, George, move the rest of the fucking cabinets. Use a Levitating Charm if you can’t be bothered to lift them."

"That’s why they’re getting fat," Ron said to Charlie. "They use Levitating Charms for everything."

"We’re not fat," Fred said indignantly. "I’ll talk to you in a few years when you’re married and see how flat your stomach is then, arsehole. Once you hit thirty it’s all down hill."

Charlie reached down and lifted up his shirt, showing off the hard, flat muscles on his stomach. "Check that out, Freddy. I’m married and I hit thirty a lot sooner than you did. You’re fat because you’re lazy. Move the cabinets."

"Show off," Fred grumbled, but walked away to move the cabinets.

Ron grinned. "Nicely done."

"Thank you," Charlie said, putting out the cigarette. "Now, as much as I would love to stay here and snog you, I think I’ll leave the snogging to Hermione and help them move the cabinets."

"Thanks," Ron said, laughing. "She appreciates it and so do I?"

Charlie turned back to him, his eyes narrowed in question. "Does she?"

Ron frowned. "Does she what?"

"Appreciate it," he asked. "Your snogging, I mean."

"Oh, I dunno. I guess." Ron shrugged. "She doesn’t seem to hate it."

"You’re sleeping with her, then?" Charlie asked, though it sounded more like a statement. "Now."

"Not right now," Ron said, pulling a face. "Right now I’m looking at your ugly face and dealing with a mess of rotted cabinets."

"But, you have been lately?"

Ron sighed and nodded. "We’ve been sleeping together."

"Good!" Charlie said, looking pleased "And you love her?"

Ron shrugged. "Probably."  
   
"Probably?" Charlie said, his head ducking back under the cabinet. "You can’t base the rest of your life on probably."

"Okay, fine, yes," he snapped. "I love her."

"You’re sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure," Ron said firmly. "I’ve loved her forever."

Charlie grinned. "Then you can stop creating projects that I get to help with," he whispered. "If you love her then it’ll all work out."

Ron sighed and then lowered his voice like Charlie had so the others couldn’t hear. "She doesn’t want to marry me, Charlie."

"She’ll come around if you’re sleeping with her," Charlie said, grinning as he hit Ron’s thigh. "You’re a Weasley."

Ron rolled his eyes and mashed out his cigarette. "Believe it or not, that’s not a selling point to her."

"Fine, then, you’re Ron Weasley," Charlie said, his voice still low. "You’re a good bloke and she’s a smart witch. She sees it."

"What if she doesn’t?"

"She does," Charlie assured him. "It’ll work out. I promise."

Ron lay there looking at the top of the cabinet long after Charlie started moving the other cabinets with Fred and George. Ron had known for a long time that Charlie was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for. He was right about most things and he never made promises he couldn’t keep. If he promised it would work out with Hermione, for the first time, Ron thought that maybe it would.  



	24. Chapter 24

“Maybe we _should_ go for Christmas, Ron,” Hermione sighed, staring at Ron who was currently working his way through his very expensive bottle of brandy. “Ginny said it’s great fun.”

 

“You spent today at her house. Take that bedlam, add seven more children plus the ones you already met, all of which will probably have parents who are drunk out of necessity, throw in lots of sugar and presents,” Ron said, taking a drink out of the bottle, “and that’s Christmas at the Burrow. Oh, wait, I forgot the star on the tree--my _mother_ will be there.”

 

Hermione sighed and looked away from him, going back to her work on the Protection spell for Harry. She had papers and books scattered across Ron’s dining room table now that the twins and Philip had gone to bed, and she was attempting to work. But, something about Ron was distracting her, sitting at the other end of the table, apparently working on some sort of mysterious project. He had huge rolls of parchment spread out and apparently chained smoked while he did any sort of paperwork; since the kids had gone to bed, he hadn’t stopped smoking—or drinking. 

 

“I think you drink too much,” Hermione whispered and Ron stopped what he was sketching, looking up at her incredulously. She stared back at him defiantly. “Well, I do.”

 

He went back to his work, taking a long draw off his cigarette. “I guess I don’t care what you think.”

 

Hermione glared at him as he went back to whatever he was doing. He took another drink out of the bottle as he leaned down closer to study the parchment and then scratched something out. 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Huh?” Ron asked, lifting his head, his cigarette in his mouth. 

 

“That you don’t care what I think?” Hermione clarified. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

 

“It means, Hermione,” Ron said, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “that you have made it blatantly obvious that you don’t want to marry me and therefore I don’t need to try and be a better man because you wouldn’t care if I was.”

 

Hermione sighed, slamming her book closed. “I already think you’re a good man. My concern is for your health!”

 

“That’s touching,” Ron said, taking another long drink. 

 

“So, what, you’re just going to alienate your family?” Hermione asked, still glaring at him despite the fact that he was back to working. “And drink and smoke yourself to death?”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

 

Hermione let out a small yell of frustration. “Why are you blocking me? Why won’t you talk to me?”

 

Ron laughed. “Gosh, Hermione, the list is so long I don’t know where to start.”

 

“Fine,” Hermione said, feeling frustrated and broken. “Block me out, too. Alienate me, too.”

 

“I don’t need to alienate you,” Ron said, lifting his head to give her a grim smile. “You did that all on your own.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione snapped at him, trying to keep her voice down. “We were doing . . . better, and now you’re turning horrible again.”

 

Ron threw his quill down and ran both his hands over his face and then through his hair. “I’m just having a bad night. Go to bed and ignore me and tomorrow I’ll be fine.”

 

“I don’t want to ignore you,” she whispered. “I want to know why you’re having a bad night. I want you to talk to me.”

 

“I’m stressed out of my fucking mind, Hermione,” Ron barked and then took another drink out of the bottle before he set it down and looked at her. “I’m drinking because it helps. I’m smoking because it helps. I’m sitting here trying to work on the floor plans to Ginny’s house because it helps. And yet, it’s not helping because it’s all so much I feel like I’m dying inside. Are you happy? Do you feel better knowing that?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “No.”

 

“Look, if you want to go to the Burrow for Christmas,” Ron said, shaking his head, “go. Take Philip and have a great time. I’d suggest Charlie’s advice of bringing your own supply of liquor because it’s a sure bet the rest of my siblings will have drank everything else, but other than that, go. I don’t care. Just don’t make me go.”

 

“What did Harry say to you tonight after dinner?” Hermione asked, and then clarified. “The older Harry. Uncle Harry.”

 

“Uncle Harry told me my office at work was raided,” Ron growled, shaking his head again as he picked up his quill and started drawing again. “That the place was a fucking mess. That every cabinet had been torn apart, that there was parchment and shit everywhere.”

 

Hermione gasped. “God, Ron, I’m sorry. I can help you clean it up.”

 

“Don’t you get it?” Ron asked, his head snapping up to glare at her. “I don’t care if my office is a mess. It was a mess before it was raided. Why’d they pick my office? Not Harry’s— _mine_.” 

 

Against her will, Hermione’s eyes welled with tears and she wiped at her cheeks. “It means that they know I’m attached to you.”

 

“That’s right,” Ron said, going back to his parchment. “Want a drink?”

 

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

 

The sound of Ron’s chair sliding across the wood reached her ears, but Hermione was so lost in thought she didn’t see him actually get up and go to the kitchen. She didn’t see anything until he was standing next to her, pouring his very expensive brandy into a glass and then handing it to her. 

 

“Keep the bottle,” Ron said, setting it down on the table next to her. 

 

“Thank you,” Hermione said and then took a sip of brandy, which did a little to restore some warmth to her skin that seemed to have gone ice cold. “What’ll you drink?” she asked. 

 

“Harry bought me another bottle of Firewhiskey,” Ron said. “He seemed to know I would require it.”

 

Hermione drank the brandy remarkably fast in silence, and was refilling her glass when she looked across the table at Ron, seeing that he had gotten himself a glass and was taking a long drink out of it. He also had another cigarette in his hand, and Hermione had to wonder why he never ran out. 

 

“What’ll we do?” she asked him, having never felt so lost. “I don’t want to put Philip in danger, Ron. How do we protect him?”

 

“Harry already said he’d be Secret Keeper for you and Philip,” Ron said, still sketching. “It’ll be enough. Harry can hold up under torture. I’ve seen him do it.”

 

“What about you?”

 

Ron lifted his head, giving her an evil sort of smile, his eyes glinting in a way she had never seen before. “I want them to find me.”

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“It’ll save me the trouble of hunting them down,” Ron said. “It’s actually a nice change from spending weeks or months tracking. I get to sit on my arse, and have them come to me. I should have made myself a target sooner.”

 

“That’s not funny, Ron.”

 

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Ron said, his voice even. “I hunt Death Eaters. I track them down and I arrest them, sometimes I even kill them. That’s what pays my bills, Hermione.”

 

“I hate it,” she told him, wiping at her cheeks once more. “I hate that you have to do that for a living.”

 

“And I’m truly sorry about that,” Ron said, sounding honest. “You are probably spot on with your decision not to marry me.”

 

Hermione took another long drink of the brandy, finding that it was making her throat numb. She thought over everything, tears still running down her face despite the warmth from the brandy.

 

“W-when did you see Harry tortured?” 

 

Ron’s head snapped up and he looked at her for a long moment, taking a long draw off his cigarette before he said, “We were in a Death Eater prison camp together for three months.”

 

Hermione felt another wave of icy nausea roll over her. “He never told me that.”

 

“Well, its not exactly light dinner conversation,” Ron said, smiling grimly. “‘Hey, I was tortured by Death Eaters for three months, pass the salt.’”

 

“He was supposed to be my best friend,” Hermione said, feeling both betrayed and horrified as she thought back. “And I know when it was. I remember when he got home he was so thin and he just looked awful. He said it was just a really rough mission, that horrible liar!”

 

“Don’t get too mad at him,” Ron said and then sighed. “I asked him not to tell you. It’s my fault you didn’t know.”

 

Hermione frowned. “Why would you tell him to keep something like that from me?”

 

“I knew he’d have to tell you that I was there too,” Ron said, sounding tired. “And I was in the hospital at the time and I didn’t want you to come see me because I looked like hell and felt even worse. I just didn’t want you to know, so he kept it a secret for me. There, now we’re even. We both made Harry keep dirty secrets.”

 

“Why were you in the hospital?” Hermione asked, feeling her heart ache for so many different reasons it was almost more than she could bear. She took another drink of the brandy. “What was wrong with you?” she said in a rasp. 

 

Ron looked like he might say something smart as he put out his cigarette and started rolling another one. “What wasn’t wrong with me?” he said, laughing brokenly. “I just had a really bad habit of pissing everyone off in that camp. I think I was doing it on purpose at the end, trying to get myself killed. You know, it’s really strange. I’ve seen people die so easily, one curse and they’re just gone. But, other times, it’s ruddy impossible to beat the life out of someone.”

 

“Did Harry try and get himself killed, too?”

 

Ron shook his head as he licked the paper on his cigarette. “No, he wasn’t that dumb.” He lit his cigarette and leaned his elbow against the table, his hand on his forehead as he stared across the table at her. He took a long draw off his cigarette and said, “I had four broken ribs, one of which punctured my right lung. A massive concussion that still causes me problems. That’s why I get headaches easily. My left wrist was splintered so badly they had to just remove the bones and re-grow them. I hadn’t eaten in so long my body had to learn how to process food again. I had these really awful seizure type things that they said was a side effect from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. They were really painful and no pain potion helped so they had to give me a really powerful sleeping draught to get me through it. I spent most of the time sleeping. It would have been nice if it wasn’t so awful.”

 

Hermione shook her head and wiped at her cheeks. She turned away from Ron as she tried to compose herself. “H-how long were you in the hospital?”

 

“Two months,” Ron said and Hermione could hear the sound of the chair scraping against the wood as he stood. She was still crying when he fell on his knees in front of her and pulled her hands away from her face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Hermione.”

 

“I w-would have come to see you,” she sobbed, pulling her hands out of Ron’s grip she wiped at her cheeks again. “I really would have, Ron. Even if we weren’t talking at the time, I would have put it all aside to be with you.”

 

“I know,” he said and Hermione looked up to see a smile pulling at him lips. “That’s why I asked Harry not to tell you. Besides, I looked dreadful. You wouldn’t have wanted to see me.”

 

“So it was vanity?” Hermione said, her voice sharp. 

 

“A little, yeah. I was twenty and still madly in love with you,” he explained. “But, it was more than that. I felt dreadful and I don’t mean the pain. I felt broken inside. I still do. There are just some things charms can’t mend, you know?”

 

Hermione sighed, wiping her cheeks once more and then dropping her hands. “I don’t think you’re broken.”

 

“Then you’re not observant enough,” Ron said, giving her a sad smile. “I’ve decided to stop bothering you about marriage. When all of this is over, we’ll work something out. And, you know, if I don’t make it--”

 

“Shut up, Ron,” Hermione said, and then let out another choked sob. “Please, don’t say that.”

 

“I’m not going to let them get Philip,” he said firmly. “Or you. I promise.”

 

“I don’t want you to die for me,” Hermione snapped at him. “Please, don’t do anything stupid!”

 

“I changed my will,” he said, obviously deciding to ignore the rest. “I know you don’t need the money so I’m leaving my savings to the twins, but the rest of my junk, I want Philip to have it. I talked to Bill tonight and he’s having it fixed.”

 

Hermione turned away from him and grabbed the bottle of brandy. She filled her glass up, emptying the bottle. She drank as she looked down at all her parchment and books. She thought about the Protection spell and how she had been working on it for Harry for years now. She thought about wills and death and the fact that Ron, himself, said you couldn’t beat the life out of some people no matter how hard you tried. There was a huge problem with the spell, one she had been trying to fix for the past year, but she realized then that she may not have any more time to fix it and she would just have to deal with the repercussions of it. 

 

She turned back to Ron, who had been kneeling there on the floor, waiting for her to calm down. She took another long drink of the brandy, emptying the glass and setting it on the table with force. 

 

“Ask me to marry you,” she told him. 

 

He smirked. “I told you I wasn’t asking anymore.”

 

“Oh, course not.” Hermione glared at him, and snapped, “Ask me, Goddamnit!”

 

“You’re drunk,” Ron said, picking up the empty brandy bottle and shaking it. He pulled a face, looking down at it. “You finished it? You’re _very_ drunk!”

 

“Do it!” she yelled at him. 

 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No way.”

 

Hermione pulled out her wand and held it to his throat as she growled, “Ask me to marry you, Ronald.”

 

Ron studied her, his eyes narrowed. “You’re a nasty drunk.”

 

“I’m not kidding,” Hermione said warningly. “You better ask me.”

 

“I can get the wand from you,” Ron told her smugly. 

 

“Not before I curse you,” Hermione promised him. Ron’s jaw clenched and he made a move to grab her wand, but she dodged him and pressed it against the curve of his neck. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

 

“You’re serious,” Ron said, his eyes wide and shocked. “You’re really gonna curse me.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Fine,” Ron sighed, throwing up his hands. “Will you marry me?”

 

“Yes, I will,” she said, not lowering her wand. “Now I want you to promise that you will keep your word and honour your proposal of marriage to me.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “Why? You’re going to take it back tomorrow anyway.”

 

“Promise me,” Hermione said firmly. “Promise me that you’ll marry me, and that Philip will have your name, and that we’re going to make it all legal.”

 

“I promise that if, _in the morning_ , you still want to marry me then, fine, yes, I will marry you, Hermione,” Ron said solemnly. “But, if you change your mind, I’ll honour that too.”

 

Hermione nodded, her wand still against his neck. “And promise that you will always take care of Philip. That you won’t let your brothers drop him or your nieces or nephews change his hair purple. Promise that you will love him and make sure that he’s happy,” she said, using her free hand to wipe at the tears running down her cheeks. “And that if something happens to me, you won’t let him forget me. You have to promise me that he’ll always know how much I love him.”

 

Ron sighed. “Come on, Hermione. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

 

“Promise.”

 

“You are seriously freaking me out!” Ron snapped at her, wincing when she pressed the wand harder against his throat. “Fine, I would do that stuff anyway. I promise!”

 

“Okay, then.” Hermione finally lowered her wand. “We’ll have Harry marry us tomorrow. He can do that, can’t he?”

 

“You’re going to be very hung over tomorrow,” Ron said. “Lets try for a later date.”

 

“It’ll have to be soon, before Christmas,” Hermione said, looking back at her work before she got an idea and turned back to him. “On Christmas Eve! Let’s get married at the Burrow.”

 

Ron laughed. “Yeah, sure, okay. Let’s get married at the Burrow.”

 

“Yes, that will work.” Hermione moved to straighten her things, but it felt hard all of a sudden, her hands felt weighted. She felt totally drained as she whispered, “I think I want to go to sleep now.”

 

“Very good plan,” Ron said, standing up. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

 

“Bugger off,” she said, shoving him away. 

 

Ron laughed again, but stepped away from her obediently. “You are a very nasty drunk. Thank God you don’t drink often.”

 

Hermione ignored him and stood, but she must have tripped over something because she pitched forward and would have landed on the ground if Ron hadn’t caught her. “I tripped,” she said, trying and failing to push his hands off her. 

 

“Sure you did,” Ron said dryly.

 

“You smell like cigarettes,” she said, finding that she was still tired and Ron was easy to lean into. “And expensive liquor.”

 

“Probably,” he agreed as he swept Hermione up into his arms. 

 

Hermione turned her head, burying her face against his neck, knowing she should be protesting his carrying her, but it felt too lovely. “And some sort of woodsy scented soap,” she sighed and lifted heavy lidded eyes to Ron. “It’s a really nice combination, actually.”

 

“Oh, God,” Ron said, shaking his head as he carried her down the hallway. “You are going to be so sick tomorrow.”

 

“Can we have a lovely wedding, Ron?” Hermione asked when he kicked open the door. “All white and gold for Christmas.”

 

“Sure,” Ron said as he laid her down on his bed and then started pulling back the covers. “My mother will be thrilled. White and gold is what Charlie and Cho did and she sobbed over how beautiful it was for months afterwards.”

 

“Will getting married fix things with your mum?” Hermione asked, not moving when he tried to pull the covers from under her. 

 

“I dunno, probably,” Ron said, and then huffed. “Help me a little, Hermione.”

 

Hermione obediently rolled onto her side and sighed at how soft Ron’s bed was, how nice his sheets felt against the bare skin of her arms. On a whim, she pulled her nightdress off and then stretched out, staring up at Ron with a lazy smile. “Your bed is really soft.”

 

Ron laughed as he stared down at her, his eyes ran over her naked body, but he didn’t move to touch her. “I think the brandy just relaxed you a little.”

 

“Mmm,” Hermione said, still staring up at him. “I really want to fix everything for you, Ron.”

 

“I appreciate that.”

 

Ron sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his shirt off, tugging it by the collar over his head and tossing it aside. When he leaned over to take his shoes off, Hermione rolled over to him and reached up, tracing the lines of the sword tattooed on his back. 

 

“Honour above all things,” she said slowly, tilting her head to read the inscription running down the length of the sword. “Do you want to know what honourable men do, Ron?”

 

“What do they do?” he asked as he threw one shoe aside, and started on the other. 

 

“They always keep their promises,” she murmured. “That’s why I made you promise. I knew you’d have to keep it.”

 

Ron turned to her, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “That’s actually really devious.”

 

She smirked at him. “I know. I’m a very smart witch.”

 

“You’re a tricky witch,” he said and stood up. “You like loopholes.”

 

He pulled his jeans off and then crawled into bed. Hermione sighed when he gathered her to him, holding her from behind, his strong arms wrapped around her and his breath warm against her neck. Her eyes felt heavy and she closed them as she said, “I don’t think we can do that binding ceremony tonight. I’m too tired.”

 

“That’s okay,” Ron said and she thought she felt his smile against her neck as he pressed a kiss there and whispered, “I think there’s a law against doing it while intoxicated anyway.”

 

“That makes sense,” Hermione mused. “It’d be awful to tie yourself to someone when you’re drunk.”

 

“Yeah, I sort of thought that, too,” Ron said, brushing her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “But, I gave you a loophole.”

 

“Always so honourable,” Hermione said, smiling to herself. 

 

“Sometimes,” he said as he left her hair be and settled back against the bed, his head resting against the pillow she was using. 

 

“You don’t know how much I love you, Ron,” she whispered into the darkness.

 

He was quiet for a long time, his body felt tense against hers all of a sudden, but he finally asked, “Then tell me how much.”

  
“Oh, um,” Hermione sighed, rolling over in his arms and staring into his eyes that seemed so very blue in the darkness. She never remembered them being so bright. She stroked his cheek, feeling stubble against her fingers. “Enough to die for,” she said, and smiled at him. “That’s a lot.”

  
“It is,” he agreed, his voice sounded hoarse and choked. “But, that isn’t an option. We’re making Harry Secret Keeper tomorrow.”

  
Hermione traced his lips with the pad of her finger. “Tell me you love me, Ron.”

  
“I love you, Hermione,” he said against her fingers, which was nice because she felt the words as well as heard them. He kissed the tips of her fingers and then grabbed her hand and pressed his lips against her wrist and whispered softly, “Enough to die for.”

  
Hermione smiled and closed her eyes, finding that it was really easy to fall into unconsciousness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	25. Chapter 25

How his life had come to this, he didn’t know. 

 

“Ron, are you listening to me?” 

 

Ron took a drag off his cigarette, blowing out smoke as he focused his attention back on Ginny sitting across from him at Pub they had stopped at. “Something about flowers.”

 

“Lilies,” she said in a huff. “I was asking you if they’re okay.”

 

“Aren’t they for funerals?”

 

“They can be for weddings, too,” she said, looking back down at her notes and speaking under her breath. “Of course, if you’d taken my suggestion and done scarlet and gold for Christmas then we could have done roses—”

 

“White and gold,” Ron said, certain of that one thing. The rest eluded him completely. “That’s what Hermione wants.”

 

“I don’t know who a woman with a two year old son thinks she’s fooling by wearing white,” Ginny sniffed, quill in hand, writing once again. “I would never wear white for my wedding. No, if I got married I’d have a Gryffindor wedding. I would look lovely in a scarlet wedding dress.”

 

Ron snorted. “Mum would go mental if you wore a scarlet wedding dress.”

 

“Well, honestly, we’re going on five Weasley weddings and not one Gryffindor wedding,” Ginny said, fixing him with a look. “That is shameful.”

 

Ron gave her a lopsided smile. “We’re saving it for you, Gin.”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Fine, we can do white roses, I suppose. Though, roses are so typical, aren’t they? Gardenias!” She announced in triumphant. “They’re white and they smell lovely and are exotic and beautiful.”

 

Ron shrugged as he put out his cigarette. “Whatever.”

 

 “Are you done?” she asked, looking decidedly annoyed and anxious. One would think Ginny was the one getting married with all the fuss she was making.  “We’ve still got to order the flowers, and get you fitted for your robes—don’t make that face at me.”

 

“Why am I here?” he asked, his voice pained as he waved over the waiter so he could pay and get on with the torture. “This stuff is for birds to do.”

 

“You were the one who put Hermione under house arrest,” she said, holding up a hand before he could protest. “So you better smile and be merry, because you’re wearing on my last nerve. Making that poor woman miss out on planning her own wedding—”

 

“Seems to me like she got the good end of the deal,” Ron snapped. “This is misery.”

 

“She couldn’t even pick out her own dress!” Ginny snapped, her voice shrill. “Not that I didn’t pick out a lovely dress, because I did, and Hermione will look stunning, mind you—but still.”

 

“Does it have easy access?” Ron asked as he glanced at the bill the waiter dropped off, and dumped enough money on the table to pay for it. 

 

Ginny snorted, and laughed as she gathered her things. “Yes, you pig.”

 

“Then I’m happy,” Ron said, looking up and giving Ginny a forced smile. “And _really_ fucking merry.”

 

“Merlin help me, you are such a sarcastic arsehole. I have no idea why Hermione is forcing you to marry her,” Ginny said in an annoyed voice as she stood up and brushed out the wrinkles in her green robes. “I’m going to buy her something really fabulous for taking you off my hands, though.”

 

Ron frowned as he stood up. He looked down at Ginny who was still brushing at her robes, looking down rather than meet his eyes. “Are you jealous?”

 

Ginny looked up at him, distracted. “Why would I be jealous? Believe it or not, I could find a husband if I wanted one. I’ve been asked not once, but twice.”

 

“But not by the right wizard,” Ron said knowingly. “Besides, that’s not what I’m talking about—Are you worried I’m not going to be around anymore?”

 

“No, why would I be worried? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. A break from your hovering will be nice,” Ginny said, looking away once more, her brown eyes glassy. “And you need to take care of Hermione and the baby. I understand that. I’m happy for you.”

 

“I love you.” Ron reached out to his sister, and pulled her to him. Ginny was limp in his arms, totally unresponsive and he grabbed her arms, putting them around him so that she was forced to return the hug. “I am not going to abandon you, Ginny Girl. Now stop nagging and being bitchy because your big brother needs you to be happy for him.”

 

Ginny squeezed him back, resting her head on his shoulder.  “I love you, too,” she sniffed, giving away the fact that she was dangerously close to tears. “I’ll miss you so much.”

 

“I’ll be around.”

 

“Yes, but it won’t be the same.”

 

“Okay.” Ron draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her to him as he started walking. “Here’s the plan, we’ll finish the torture of shopping. Then we’ll go back to my place, and get thoroughly smashed. Mum will stay the night with your kids. Hermione will understand.”

 

“That is totally irresponsible. We can’t do that,” Ginny laughed, shaking her head at him as she tried and failed to push him away. 

 

“Nah, it can be my stag do, you, me and a bottle of Firewhiskey. It’ll be good.”

 

Ginny paused, pulling Ron up short as she put a hand over her mouth. “Damn, your stag do! You need one—why didn’t I think about that?”

 

“We’ll have one,” he told her with a smile as he reached out to tug on a strand of her red hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back. “Did you miss the Firewhiskey plan?”

 

“Right.” Ginny nodded, getting that dazed look in her eyes that had been present all week as she frantically planned his and Hermione’s wedding. “Firewhiskey, that’s important. We’ve got to hurry. I’ll have to use your floo when we get home.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“And Hermione will need a hen party.” Ginny started breathing deeply as if looking for strength when Ron started walking once more, pushing her along. “I’ll have to plan that, too.”

 

“We’ll make it two in one,” Ron said dismissively. “Trust me, I’m getting married because that woman can drink when she puts her mind to it.”

 

“No, a witch only gets married once. It’ll have to be a proper hen party.”

 

“This isn’t a typical wedding. You’ll probably have to skip it.”

 

“No, no, I can work it out. Don’t worry; you’ll both have proper parties. I’m going to kill Harry for not thinking of your stag night—what kind of best man is he? That’s all he’s supposed to do and he forgets!”

 

~*~  
  


“What is she doing?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ron said tiredly, glancing at Hermione across the table. “Did you like the wedding dress Ginny picked out?”

 

“I suppose,” Hermione said, flipping through a large book on the table and running her fingers over the pages, her eyes scanning the words rapidly in a way that made it obvious she was only barely paying attention to him. “Are you sure Philip is asleep?”

 

“Positive, I just checked on him,” Ron lit a cigarette and then rested his elbow on the table as he leaned forward to watch Hermione work. He found himself doing that often, as if he could stare at her forever. “You didn’t look at the wedding dress, did you?”

 

“What?” 

 

“The wedding dress? Did you look at it?”

 

“Ginny picked it out, I’m sure its lovely,” Hermione mumbled, not taking her eyes off her work. “Why can’t I get this right? I need my other book, the big one on Incan. It’s a translation book, it’s translates Ancient Incan to—”

 

“Latin, I know,” Ron said, standing up and putting his cigarette in his mouth as he went to his bookshelf in the living room that was now filled with more books than it was ever meant to be. “I’m amazed you don’t read it fluently by now.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Hermione said distantly. “It’s just—this part here, it makes no sense. I need to double check my work.”

 

“Wow.” Ron shook his head sadly as he pulled down the large, heavy tome and brought it over to her. “I would look at that dress. I know my sister, her tastes vary drastically from yours. You could hate it.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Ron stood there smoking his cigarette and looking down at Hermione, who was completely absorbed in her work, just as she had been every waking hour for the last week. He was beginning to wonder if she remembered there was going to be a wedding. Her interest in their wedding had been passing at best. She had been immersed to the point of obsession with finishing her project on the protection spell for Harry. Ron knew it was important, but with only a few days until their wedding, he was starting to get weary.

 

Despite her reassurances, it all seemed too easy. They had gone from enemies, to lovers, to something much more in a shockingly short amount of time, and it wore heavily on Ron’s Auror senses. Hermione was rich, beautiful, and the witch he had loved for as long as he could remember. He was waiting for the fairy tale to end—Real life was never this easy.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

“Stop.” Hermione held up a hand to silence him, something she had taken to doing the past couple of days whenever his insecurity over her intention to actually marry him forced him to confront her about it. “For the thousandth time, yes, I am certain. I essentially asked you, remember?”

 

“You were drunk—very drunk.”

 

“A technicality.” Hermione looked up at him, giving him a warm smile as she raised her eyebrows curiously. “I thought you and Ginny were going to have a little party. That’d be good for you, help your nerves a bit, maybe.”

 

“You noticing that we’re getting married would help them more.” Ron pulled a chair up next to Hermione and then reached over to grab his ashtray. He leaned his elbow against the table once more, sharing the same space with her as he studied her face. She had dark circles under her eyes, which concerned him. Unable to resist, he reached out, brushing some of the stray curls that had escaped her braid off her neck. She hummed, her eyes drifting close as her head lulled to the side, giving him better access. That was encouraging and Ron growled, “I wish my sister would get lost.”

 

“You invited her to stay,” Hermione reminded him in a soft, husky voice. “You wanted a little pity party for your lost bachelorhood.”

 

“That’s not what the party was for,” he hummed, taking a long drag off his cigarette and turning his head away to blow out the smoke. “I think Ginny’s depressed being the last Weasley standing. She wants to get married. She just fell in love with the wrong man.”

 

“Percy’s not married, is he?”

 

“He doesn’t count,” Ron said, putting out his cigarette with more force than necessary. “The day he became a Death Eater was the day he was dead to our family.”

 

“That’s not nice.”

 

“Life’s not nice,” he countered, looking at her longingly once more. Thoughts of his lost brother flitted away as he took in her tired, beautiful features and the way they looked with wild curls that had escaped her braid framing her face. “I love you.”

 

Her smile became soft, her eyes molten brown as she stared back at him. “How long is your pity party going to last?”

 

He shrugged. “Long enough to get Ginny pissed, I suppose.”

 

“That shouldn’t take long, then,” Hermione said hopefully. “I’ll wrap up some of this work and then we can spend some actual time together. It feels like we haven’t had a moment alone since we told your family we were getting married.”

 

Ron frowned at her. “Have you ever drank with my sister before?”

 

“She’s slim, it can’t take that long,” Hermione leaned over, placing a chaste kiss against his lips. She spoke again, this time in a raspy whisper as she shared the same air with him, “I’ll finish what I’m working on while you two have your pity party and then we’ll figure out a better way to ease your anxiety over our marriage.”

 

Ron raised his eyebrows, studying her face intently. “That sounds promising.”

 

“It is.”

 

“Can I get a sample?” Ron asked and then reached over, grabbing Hermione and pulling her away from those books she was constantly pouring over. She screeched, but melted into him when he pulled her onto his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she leaned over and bit at his ear lobe. He groaned, his breath hitching as desire shot like lightening through him, “Nice.”

 

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed, her breath hot against his ear as she sucked and nibbled a path from his ear down to the curve of his neck. “I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine—sound like a plan?”

 

“A hell of a plan,” he agreed in a low voice as his head lulled to the side to give her better access. 

 

He wished there was a way to go on a honeymoon with Hermione once the hell of planning a wedding on such short notice was over, to go off somewhere where there were no kids—

 

“Are you ready, Ronnie?”

 

—or sisters.

 

He closed his eyes; his head falling heavily back against the chair as Ginny walked into the room. “Your timing is, as always, impeccable. Can we do the party tomorrow night? You know I love you, but—”

 

“Hen party tomorrow night,” Ginny announced, walking around the table and stopping front of them. “Sweet, very sweet. Seeing this speaks to the romantic in me.”

 

“Yeah, that’s why we did it,” Ron said dryly, holding Hermione to him when she made a move to get off his lap. Hermione giggled, covering her mouth with her hand when she obviously realized why he needed her there. Having her over him, with her warm lips on his skin had his body hard and aching for her. “Bugger off, Gin. Give us a moment.”

 

Ginny frowned. “Oh, honestly, it’s not like I don’t know what—”

 

“Bugger off!”

 

“But, they’ll be here any minute.”

 

“They?” Ron whispered, his eyes snapping open to look over Hermione’s head at his sister in horror. “You didn’t!”

 

A knock sounded at the front door, answering Ron’s question with dreadful certainty. 

 

“Speak of the devils,” Ginny said brightly, walking past Ron and Hermione to answer the door.

 

Ron stared at his sister as she worked on opening the door past all the wards set Ron’s flat. She wore a short, black Muggle dress and fancy black heels that had straps that wrapped up around her ankles and calves. Her red hair flowed long and loose down her back, but it was curled, rather than just naturally wavy. This didn’t bode well at all.

 

“What’s the point of having a bloody secret keeper if Harry lets in the arseholes we want to keep out?” Ron grumbled as he set Hermione back on her feet and reached into his pocket for his cigarette tin. “Forget any back scratching—they’re going to have me out all night and then tomorrow night is your hen party. At this point, we’ll be married before we do it again.”

 

“But, we need to do the bonding cerm—” Hermione was cut off when Ron jumped up, cupping his hand over her mouth before she could finish her sentence. 

 

Hermione was still looking up at him in bemusement when his brothers piled into his flat, making it seem decidedly smaller with their large personalities—his family could suck the life out of any room. He wasn’t kidding when he likened them to Dementors. 

 

They all complimented Ginny out of habit. They were married wizards after all, somewhere over the years the constant whacks of annoyance from their wives whenever they picked on Ginny seemed to have sunk in where the whacks from their mother hadn’t.

 

“Trouble in paradise?” Fred asked, tucking a strand of shoulder length red hair behind his ear as he studied the two of them standing there, with Ron’s hand still clamped firmly over Hermione’s mouth. “If I did that to Angelina to stop her harping I’d be limping for a week? I’m sorta impressed.”

 

“Please, fuck off,” Ron groaned, taking his hand off Hermione’s mouth. “I really don’t want to go to this party. In case you missed the memo, we’re in a very dangerous situation right now. I don’t feel comfortable leaving.”

 

“Harry’s secret keeper, they’re fine,” Ginny said dismissively as she walked over to them and hugged Hermione. “We’ll have a great hen party for you, don’t think I’ve forgotten. I’ll get this wizards night over with and then it can be just us witches tomorrow.”

 

Hermione shook her head, her eyes wide. “Hen party, when did I agree to that? I don’t--”

 

“Not to worry, you two already did the ceremony,” Bill said, smiling at Hermione reassuringly as he totally misunderstood her flustered state. “It’s just good, clean fun.”

 

“Is there anything clean that’s fun?” George asked, frowning at Fred. 

 

“No, not really—fun is dirty by definition,” Fred said with a grin. “Bill’s a liar, we plan to have lots of obnoxious, dirty fun. Ron is very lucky to have brothers who have spent many years discovering clever ways around binding ceremonies.”

 

Bill snorted. “I’m telling Angelina.”

 

“Do it,” Fred shot back. “She knows I plan to have lots of dirty fun. It’s not every day my younger brother gets married. She would be disappointed if I didn’t.”

 

“Tell me not to go,” Ron reiterated to Hermione. “I’m being _very_ serious.”

 

“We’re talking about the loss of your freedom, Ronnie,” Fred said seriously, looking up at Ron with wide, horrified eyes. “Your bachelorhood is gone forever.”

 

“I’m not losing anything, I’m gaining Hermione and Philip. I hated my bachelorhood,” Ron grumbled as he sat down and started rolling a cigarette. “And the last thing in the world I want to do tonight is go out with you fuck offs to do Merlin knows what—it took me three days to recover from Charlie’s stag do.”

 

“Go, Ron—You should go.”

 

“What?” Ron gasped, looking up at Hermione in shock. She was smiling at him, her brown eyes warm and glowing as if he had said something that pleased her. “Are you mad?”

 

“Go have fun, I want you to,” Hermione said, giving him another smile. “I’ve got work to do anyhow. I’ll wait up.”

 

“Oh, don’t do that,” Fred said, putting a hand on Ron’s shoulder as he sat there dumbstruck. “The sun will be up before we’ll be back.”

 

“Some of us have to work tomorrow,” Harry put in as he walked into the room, his arm around Ginny’s waist. “We’ll be back before the sun.”

 

“Like hell!” George growled. “This is Ronnie’s stag night—call in sick.”

 

“I don’t own my own business, George,” Harry snapped back at him. “I have real responsibilities.”

 

“I have to side with Harry,” Charlie said, shaking his head as he tilted his head to look at the twins. “I can’t call in sick.”

 

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Bill sighed. “I guess I’ll just feel like hell at the bank tomorrow.”

 

“When did you guys turn into old men?” Fred growled in disgust. “Are you going to put up with this, Gin?”

 

“I planned this party and I am killing myself to put this wedding together, the least you could do is have the decency to appreciate it,” Ginny said firmly as she broke away from Harry and walked over to the dining room table. She slammed her hands against the table and glared at Ron. “Now, I want you to get your shoes and coat on and look happy that you have people that love you and want to celebrate the loss of the bachelorhood you hated so much.”

 

Ron stared at his sister, with her sultry make up and tight muggle dress. She would look dressed to kill if tears weren’t brimming in her eyes. She was killing herself to plan the wedding because she thought it was the wedding she would never have. This party was the one she would never get.  The one she loved was tied to a destiny that could very likely take him away from her before she ever got a wedding or children. 

 

This half-arsed wedding that Ron and Hermione were having out of family obligation when they would have both been happy with going to the Ministry and doing it quickly was the closest Ginny would get to her own wedding and she cherished it in a way Ron really hadn’t understood until that moment.  She was dressed up and desperate for him to go out and enjoy one of his last nights as the final sibling of many who understood. 

 

“Fine.” Ron picked up his tobacco tin and put it in his pocket. He stood up, looking down at himself, deciding that he should probably change clothes. “Give me a moment to change.”

 

“Don’t kill yourself,” George said bitterly. “I know you lot think that running our own business is so easy, but believe it or not, we work, too—you’re just more important than that. Ginny’s more important, too—she did work hard to plan it.”

 

“I get it. I’m a dickhead,” Ron said, rolling his eyes as he walked off. “I’ll be quick.”

 

“Lovely,” Ginny said, sounding relieved. “Harry, love, did you bring the Muggle money?”

 

“Got it in my pocket—I brought plenty.”

 

“Where are you lot heading off to?” Hermione asked curiously. “It can’t be anywhere too obnoxious if Ginny is going.”

 

“Right,” Fred said dryly, sounding to be holding back laughter. “Ginny’ll keep us in line.”

 

Ron shook his head when the rest of his brothers snorted incredulously. He walked down the hallway, dreading a night out. If he was going to be doing something dirty and obnoxious, he’d rather it be with Hermione instead of his siblings. Still, he decided not to let his disappointment show—he could put on a happy face for Ginny.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

That amazing artist Lillywmw has taken it upon herself to convince me to continue work on this story and post in a timely manner and she lures me with beautiful works of art. You really MUST go see the pieces she’s done for this story. They are gorgeous. When you see them you’ll see why I picked up work on this project. Am including a link, go check out the fan art and review because each piece takes a crazy amount of time for her to finish and she is so talented! I am totally impressed. This was the most recent. . . And I could look at it forever and never get tired of it.

 

http://lillywmw.livejournal.com/54927.html

 

Okay, so it was a filler chapter. . .I know, not very exciting after all the waiting, but it was sorta necessary as set up. Am so sorry for the wait. . . I am writing original stuff that takes up most of my writing time, but I do so enjoy visiting this world. Your reviews, as always, are wonderful and supportive. Original work is such lonely work. You guys remind me why I like writing. 

            

Thank you so much to my beta readers. . . You guys rock! I totally appreciate you!

 

I do need to work on this more, cause I have hug chunks of the ending written and I would like to get to them! 

 


	26. Chapter 26

  
Author's notes: Thank you SO MUCH to my betas, Science Gnome, ipynk, and Iriepotter! And thank you for everyone who has been amazingly supportive and wonderful to me in the past with your feedback. (((Hugs you all)))  


* * *

"Never have I ever kissed a member of the same sex."

"Oh, very funny, Ron," Ginny grabbed one of the shot glasses in front of her. She downed it without wincing, but her voice was raspy as she said, "That one never gets old with you lot—new rule, you can only use it once per game."

"Never have I ever done it with a member of the same sex," Charlie said with a smirk as he took a long drag off a cigarette and leaned back in his chair.

"That's the same thing!"

"Is not," Charlie argued. "Drink up, Ginny Girl.

"Fine." Ginny shrugged and grabbed another drink. She downed it and then set the glass down with a thud as she grinned smugly at Charlie across the table. "I'll get you on my turn—I got my eye on you, Charles."

"Never have I ever had a threesome."

"What is this?" Ginny shrieked, turning to look at Bill with narrowed eyes. "This game is officially unfair—we're playing a different one."

"You're fine," Bill said with a laugh, his head lulling to the side to stare at one of the scantily clad women walking by.

Bill was distracted, but Ron frowned when Fred and George exchanged glances and then quickly reached over to grab the shot glasses in front of them, downing them quickly, wincing—Ron didn't think it was the whiskey that got that reaction.

"Gred and Forge," Ron said in a sing song voice. "What naughty wizards you are."

"Yeah, that one got me too," Charlie laughed, leaning forward to grab his shot glass. He drank quickly, looking smug. "But, I wasn't bread, I was lunch meat."

Harry also drank a shot, as did Ginny. Ron realized he and Bill were outnumbered.

Bill turned around to stare at Harry, frowning as he studied him. "Do we want to know?"

"I dunno, do you?" Harry countered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cigarettes. He lit one with a traditional lighter and then blew out the smoke slowly. He narrowed his eyes in a calculated manner and then said evenly, "Never have I ever gone down on a brother's wife."

"You didn't just do that to me," Ginny whispered in a low, scandalized voice.

That got everyone at the table's attention and all of Ron's brother's gaped, looking to be too shocked to speak as Ginny reluctantly picked up another shot glass and downed it, casting, dark, angry looks at Harry.

"Oh, no, no, no," Fred said with wide eyes. "You got to tell us who it was."

"Who was it?" George growled at Ginny. "You got to tell us—it'll drive us crazy."

"That's fine," Ginny said with a smile. "Go home and ask your wives—maybe you lot aren't the only ones who have found clever ways around binding ceremonies, maybe it was more than one. You'll never know."

"Did you go down on my wife?" Bill snapped at her.

Ron laughed as he watched all four of his brothers faces flush and smirked at Harry across the table. "You got them back in a way Ginny never could—You're a Slytherin thinking bastard. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," Harry said smugly. "Ginny, your turn."

"Never have I ever pissed standing up," Ginny said, leaning back against her chair with a pleased smile. "Roll me a fag, Ronnie."

Ron downed a shot in front of him the same as everyone at the table save Ginny and then leaned back to roll Ginny a cigarette. "You use that one every time you play."

"Gets the job done," Ginny answered back smartly. "She's pretty."

Ron turned around as he licked the paper on Ginny's fag, seeing that she was eyeing a slim, Asian woman, with long, straight black hair. He cast a glance at Charlie, who also followed Ginny's line of sight.

Charlie scowled at Ginny when she reached across the table to take the cigarette from Ron. "Light it for me, love," Ginny said to Harry. "I never know how to work those Muggle things."

Harry lit the cigarette for her and Ginny leaned back against her chair, casually smoking her cigarette, careless that all her brothers were still glaring at her.

"Did you fuck my wife," Charlie growled at her. "I want to know."

"Too bad for you—I'm not telling. Georgie, your turn."

"Never have I ever done it on a dragon."

"Oh, we're picking on me now," Charlie sighed as he reached over and drank a shot and then grabbed the whiskey bottle to refill the glasses.

"You looked like you needed a drink," George offered helpfully. "You know, Ginny Girl, I don't mind my wife doing it with another woman—but, it would damage me for life if it was you. That would be the biggest shame of the century."

"Tell me," Charlie snorted as he worked on refilling the glasses. "Ronnie, roll me a fag."

"What am I?" Ron snapped at him. "I've been rolling fags all night!"

"It's the least you can do—your best mate and sister have just damaged me for life," Charlie countered and then reached over and picked up one of the glasses and downed a shot just because.

"How is that my fault?" Ron asked as he started rolling a cigarette for Charlie.

"Never have I ever done it with 'The Boy Who Lived'."

"Merlin help me," Ginny sighed, reaching forward to grab a glass.

"Drink up—you're really in trouble now," Fred said with a laugh. "We're getting you pissed for sure."

Ron handed the cigarette to Charlie and then considered everyone before he said, "Never have I ever made more than one baby."

"You're a dick," George growled at him.

"I've been told," Ron said, watching with satisfaction as everyone at the table drank except for Harry and Ginny. "I'm on Ginny's team now—four against one is no fair. Whose turn is it?

"My turn," Charlie hummed thoughtfully as he stared at Ginny across the table. "Never have I ever gone down on a Veela."

"What the hell?" Bill said as he reached forward and grabbed a shot glass. "You're supposed to be on my team. You know I have to work tomorrow."

"Sorry," Charlie said distantly as he folded his arms over his chest and stared at Ginny. "No shot?"

Ginny grinned back at him and then reached forward and grabbed a shot glass. She downed it and then set it back on the table. "I see what you're doing—I'm telling you now, it won't work."

"We're on the honor system," Charlie reminded her in a superior, big brother voice.

"I'm aware of that."

"Did you mess with my wife?" Bill snapped at her. "You don't even like her."

"Fire and ice, sweetheart, foes can make good bedfellows."

"Okay, I get it," Bill said, his eyes narrowed at Ginny. "Can we use names?"

"Nope, those are the rules to protect the not so innocent," Harry reminded them all. "No names."

"Fine," Bill shrugged, staring at Ginny thoughtfully. "Never have I ever gone down on a black woman."

Fred reached forward and grabbed a shot glass, downing it as he eyed Ginny. Charlie also picked up a shot glass, he downed the shot quickly, his eyes also on Ginny.

Ginny eyed everyone at the table and then reached forward and grabbed a shot glass. She downed it with a smug smile and then turned it upside down and set it on the table with a resounding thump. "I told you this wasn't going to work."

"Never have I ever done it without protection," Harry said in a bored voice as he ran a hand through his hair and turned to look at Ginny. "Your turn."

Ron growled, but was forced to lean forward and take a shot like the rest of his brothers.

"Um," Ginny hummed thoughtfully as she took a long puff of her cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly. "Never have I ever used a towel to wank with."

"Holy shit," Ron burst out, laughing incredulously. "You didn't just say that."

"I did," Ginny said, laughing with him. "One, two, three, four, five, six." Ginny pointed at each wizard at the table. "Take a shot—we're on the honor system"

"I haven't used a towel to wank with," Charlie said, shaking his head in denial.

"Honor system," Ginny said in a singsong voice. "Never ever, Charliekins? I doubt that. You were young once, no magic outside school, and only one bathroom at the Burrow. You had a towel as a girlfriend, I know it."

Bill reached forward to take a shot. "She's a bitch."

"She is," Fred agreed as he reached forward to take a shot.

Ron did it, too—as did George and eventually Charlie. The only one who didn't was Harry and they all turned to look at him curiously. Harry shrugged, "There was more than one bathroom at the Dursley's—I wanked in the shower."

Ron shuddered. "Bad mental image."

"I think it's a nice one," Ginny said, turning her head to stare at Harry, her eyes soft and glazed with adoration. "You never had a towel for a girlfriend?"

"Nope," Harry said simply. "You honestly think I'd leave a towel around for my aunt to find? You're mental. They'd starve me for sure."

"Poor Harry," Ginny put out her cigarette, and then tapped her lips. Harry leaned forward and kissed her. Ginny tangled her fingers in his hair and whispered against his lips, "Are you bored with this game?"

"No way! We get at least one more round," George snapped at them, looking across the table in disgust. "Half pissed out of my mind, that is not a good image. Stop it."

Ginny shrugged and leaned back against her chair. "We're in a Muggle club full of naked women—and what are you lot doing? Pestering me."

"We just like to look," Fred said simply. "The rest is too much."

"And you're giving the rest of them hell about being old," Ginny said with a laugh. "You used to be up there with your hands all over those girls."

"Mmm," Fred agreed tiredly, his eyes dazed from too much alcohol. "The only one I want to put my hands on is Angelina—Fuck, but she sounds so good when--"

"Dear God, whose turn is it," Charlie snapped as he leaned forward and put out his cigarette.

"Mine," George said, rubbing a hand over his blood shot eyes quickly before he turned to look at Ginny. "Never have I ever gone down on an Asian witch."

Charlie reached forward and grabbed a shot glass. He downed it quickly, his eyes on Ginny. Ginny stared back at him defiantly, before she reached forward and grabbed a shot glass, she drank it slowly, not even wincing over it and then turned the glass over triumphantly.

"This may not work," Bill said distractedly as he also reached forward and grabbed a glass. "I'm not faring well—I can't drink with you lot like I used to."

"You're fine," Fred said, glaring at Ginny as he grabbed a bottle and worked at refilling all the glasses at the table. When he was done, he announced, "Never have I ever gone down on a Hispanic witch."

Ron raised his eyebrows when Ginny reached forward and grabbed another shot glass, as did George, because his wife Denise was Hispanic. Ginny and George took the shot at the same time and when they were done he slammed his glass down with more force than necessary. "Are you fucking with us, Gin?"

"No, not really—I have eclectic tastes, what's wrong with that?"

"Are you saying you've fucked with all our wives?"

"Are you saying that you think you've neglected your wives to the point where they'd turn to me?" Ginny countered, raising her eyebrows at all her brothers. "You lot doubting yourselves is telling."

"Why do we play this game?" Ron asked tiredly. "It always ends badly. We're not supposed to know this much about each other."

"You said no to a lap dance," Ginny said with a smirk. "You could be doing something more interesting."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm with Fred," he said as he started rolling another cigarette, hoping to keep it solely for himself. "Looking is fine, the rest is too much."

Ginny shook her head. "You're gonna be the worst of the lot, I can tell. No fun at all once you get married."

"Don't feel like you have to sit here and babysit me," Ron said dismissively as he licked the paper on his cigarette. "Just because I'm getting married doesn't mean you are. You go get a lap dance if you want one."

"I'm game for that," Harry said, wagging his eyebrows at her. "It's on me if you want one."

"Then you're on," Ginny said as she stood up, wavering a little when she did. She put a hand to her forehead and laughed. "Whoa, I'm pissed. You're getting lucky tonight."

"Awesome. In case you change your minds." Harry tossed a handful of Muggle money on the table and then wrapped an arm around Ginny and leaned down to place a kiss against the curve of her neck. "Later ladies, have fun without us."

"He's a nasty drunk," Fred said sullenly, before he turned to Ron and frowned when Harry and Ginny walked off. "Do you know who it was? I know they tell you more than you want to know."

Ron chose to take another drink rather than answer. That effectively turned the entire table against him. He had a high alcohol tolerance, he'd been working on it the whole of his adult life—but at four Weasley's to one, he stood no chance of returning to Hermione anything less than piss drunk.

~*~

"Are you feeling better today?"

Ron squinted as he took a sip of his coffee. Hermione was fuzzy around the edges as she stood next to where he leaned against the kitchen counter. Her hands were on her hips and she looked none too pleased.

"Better is relative," he rasped, blinking his eyes to clear the fuzziness from them. "But, I don't dare do another hangover charm. From experience, anymore than two has a negative effect."

"Two hangover charms haven't helped you?" Hermione whispered incredulously. "What if you have alcohol poisoning? Maybe we should take you to St. Mungo's."

"I'm fine," he lied as he set his coffee on the counter and rubbed a hand over his face. "Where are the kids? It's too quiet."

"They went with Ginny and Harry."

"Why?" Ron asked and then looked around his flat, finally finding a bit of clarity since he had fallen out of bed a few minutes ago. "Where's the baby?"

"Harry took him too," Hermione said, shrugging a little. "He's going to watch the kids at Ginny's while she takes the twins Christmas shopping."

"Okay, first--" Ron started as he attempted to focus his thoughts. "My sister and Harry were up and willing to watch children this morning? Really?"

"They seemed in fine spirits," Hermione said, wincing at Ron. "Really fine. I haven't seen Harry that upbeat in ages. Maybe he knows a better hangover charm than you."

"Maybe," Ron mumbled a he tried to sort out fuzzy memories from the night before. "Maybe he just got lucky—really lucky. Did you say he was going to watch the kids at my sister's?"

Hermione shrugged. "That's what he said."

"Harry doesn't watch kids. Ginny never leaves him with the kids. I think she's afraid he'll leave her afterwards."

"He watches Philip."

"My mother must be over there." Ron rubbed a hand over his face once more. "I wish you would have woken me up before they took them. Ginny's is such a mad house before Christmas and if my mother is there, I'm not going to go over to get him back and you shouldn't either. I dunno what Harry was thinking by taking him there."

"They said something about giving us a bit of time alone," Hermione said, her cheeks flushing as she tucked a few stray curls behind her ears. "Did you tell them we haven't done the binding ceremony?"

"Oh, shit," Ron whispered, his eyes growing wide as he stared at the floor and tried to fight for the memories of the rest of the night. Once Harry and Ginny had left, things got hazy for him. "I may have—I honestly don't remember. I drank way too much."

"You think?" Hermione snorted sarcastically. "Harry said you took one for the team. What does that mean?"

"It means he started something and then left me to deal with it while he found more amusing things to do."

Hermione pulled a face as she obviously tried to make sense of what he was saying. "I probably don't want to know."

"You really don't," Ron snorted.

"Do you want breakfast—well, lunch really," she said as she looked at him in concern. "It's two o'clock."

"I'm not ready to eat," Ron said with a wince. "Not even close."

"Right, I reckoned not." Hermione appeared suddenly lost as she stared at the stove with wide, unseeing eyes. "I should probably go back to work," she mumbled. "It's important and the house is so quiet. I should be utilizing--"

Ron cut her off by reaching out and grabbing her wrist, jerking her against him. He was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a pair of loose fitting pajama bottoms. He groaned at the feeling of her against him and he looked down the low-neckline of her slinky, black nightdress, realizing only then she didn't have on a dressing gown. He'd been too out of it before to notice, but now that he had he felt decidedly more awake.

"This is nice," he mumbled, tilting his head to study the nightdress he knew was something Hermione would never buy. "Please don't tell me my sister bought this for you. That'll break my brain."

"Okay, I won't tell you," Hermione said with a smirk, before she pulled an embarrassed face. "Do you hate it? I shouldn't have worn it."

"No, I'm glad you wore it. It's sexy," he said, trying to forget that Ginny picked it out. He cupped Hermione's cheek, rubbing his thumb over it lovingly before he let his hand trail lower. He traced the line of her throat before he threaded his fingers into her thick curls and tugged lightly. Hermione was surprisingly languid. Instead of fighting it, her head fell back, exposing the smooth line of her throat. Lust pulsed through his blood stream with surprising velocity. His voice was husky as he whispered, "You wanna do the binding?"

"Not if you're not up for it," Hermione sighed, her raspy breathing and heavy lidded eyes making her an obvious liar. "I can wait."

"I'm up for it." He tightened his other arm around her and thrust his hips forward. "I always want you," he groaned, leaning down until his lips were a breath away from hers. "I've missed you."

"Missed you too," she sighed as she stood on her toes, bringing their lips together.

Ron had a headache throbbing at the back of his skull. He would have thought before that moment it was too intense to be ignored, but he was wrong. Suddenly nothing existed but Hermione. The feel of her slim body pressed against his, the smell of her flowery shampoo, the taste of her as she parted her lips to the thrust of his tongue, he was suddenly swept up in the passion only she could stir in him.

There was no one in the house, they could have enjoyed the novelty of doing it in the kitchen, but he was more old fashioned than he realized. He wanted her in his bed.

Hermione squealed in surprise when he suddenly swept her up in his arms.

"You'll drop me!" she gasped, before a giggle escaped her, which was nice because neither of them had been laughing much lately. They'd been so caught up in other things; they hadn't once stopped to enjoy the novelty of being engaged after what felt like a lifetime apart. She laughed harder, her hand cupping over her mouth. "God, Ron, you're probably still drunk. Please don't drop me!"

"I won't drop you," he said, stopping his trek towards the bedroom to look down at Hermione's face flushed with amusement as she continued to laugh incredulously. "I promise."

"I believe you." She beamed, her brown eyes glowing up at him. "You're a man of your word."

That made him smile, and he knew he probably looked like a grinning fool as he carried her to the bedroom. It was against his nature, this level of romantic fluffiness. It wasn't just a side of himself he didn't revel in, it was a side he had never discovered before. Instead of pulling away, he decided if he couldn't be a romantic fool with his wife, what was the point?

"I really wanna enjoy this," he said as he laid her down on the bed. He pushed his pajama bottoms off without a thought and crawled naked over her, admiring the black, lacy nightdress once more. He knew his eyes were glazed in adoration and his voice was heavy with desire as he sighed, "I'll be anything you want today, Hermione. Tell me what turns you on and I'll do it."

"Just be yourself. Be Ron, that's what I want. That's what turns me on," she said, her eyes running over him as he sat crouched on his hands and knees over her. Her eyes were glazed too, her voice husky with sexual arousal. "I forgot my wand in the kitchen," she said distantly, her gaze still on his bare chest. "We'll need it to do the binding."

"We have all afternoon," he said as he cupped her cheek again, his thumb running over her lips. "Binding later—let's just fuck for a while."

She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the edges from how broadly she smiled. "Crude."

He raised his eyebrows, smiling back at her. "You told me to be myself."

"Mmm," she agreed, reaching up to thread her fingers into his hair.

She tugged him down until he fell over her, resting the majority of his weight on one arm as they kissed again, hot and opened mouthed with their tongues brushing and exploring each other, gently sucking and licking, alternately leading and following. He groaned and then leaned down to bury his face into the curve of her neck. He nipped lightly, savoring the way Hermione's head lulled to the side heavily, giving him free access.

It'd been too long. He couldn't help but reach down and stroke himself as he trailed his tongue up the smooth line of her neck to her ear. Hermione moaned, her hips thrusting up, her flat stomach brushing against his knuckles while he fisted his cock.

"Tell me what you want," he panted in her ear, hoping to God she'd beg to be fucked. He liked foreplay as much as anyone, but he was about to be too desperate to be any good at it. "Tell me now before I lose my head. I'll lick you if you want it."

Hermione snorted, sounding unconvinced as she reached between their straining bodies that were already sticky with a fine sheen of sweat. She pushed his hand aside. Her small hand wrapped around his cock at the base and slid upwards in a way that made him groan out loud. His head fell forward, resting on her shoulder as he thrust into her hand instinctively.

"You want in?" she asked simply, her voice seductive and teasing.

"Yup," he choked, thrusting against her hand again. "Christ, I need you. Three days feels like a fucking lifetime."

"That works for me," she said with a laugh as she released him to push at his shoulder.

He leaned up, his eyes heavy lidded with lust as it throbbed through him. He watched Hermione tug the nightdress off, tossing it over the edge of the bed carelessly. He groaned again as he stared down at her bare breasts and noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing knickers.

"Shit," he sighed, still feeling completely dazed as he leaned down to lave his tongue over one pert nipple, then sucking it roughly into his mouth. He tugged at it with his teeth, before he lifted his head to stare at her hungrily. "I love you so fucking much. I wish I could take you on a honeymoon."

"We'll make our own honeymoon."

Ron wasn't really sure when they had become comfortable lovers. The newness was starting to evaporate, and was being replaced with a deep, sexual understanding of one another. It had happened really fast, almost too fast to be believed, as if they had been designed to fit together. They were totally attuned to each other as Hermione's smooth, firm legs wrapped around his waist. He guided himself into her and groaned at the feeling of her tight, hot body clenching around him.

The fact that he was going to spend the rest of his days with this woman was enough to make a strange, bubbling happiness burst in his chest. He felt his eyes sting and he squeezed them shut, not certain he wanted to be that exposed.

"Fuck, you're sexy. You feel really good." he whispered to fight against the deeper emotions that were making his chest hurt with the intensity of everything. He let his head fall to her shoulder once more as he pulled out and thrust back into her, savoring her gasp of pleasure. "God, I love being here—right here."

"I love it too," Hermione panted, her fingers tightening in his hair as she moved against him, her hips meeting his when he thrust into her once more. "Harder, Ron—Oh, God!"

He fucked her roughly, thinking there was nothing sexier than hearing her beg for it. He savored the sounds they made together, the slap of skin against skin mingling with broken words of adoration and husky pants of pleasure as they fucked hard and loved even harder—perhaps too hard.

Warning bells were sounding in Ron's brain. Anything that felt this good had the potential to hurt him more than he could probably comprehend. To say he was vulnerable where Hermione was concerned would be one of the grandest understatements of the century and Aurors _hated_ being vulnerable. He just couldn't help himself.

Hermione's small nails cut into his shoulders. Her heels hooked together and dug into the small of his back. He felt the coil of bliss pull tightly and nearly break free when she bit at the curve of his neck, muffling her sharp cry when he angled his hips, hoping to hit the right spot inside her.

"Fuck," she cried out, her nails breaking the skin as she clung to him and her legs fell from around his waist, opening wide to the hard thrust of his cock inside her. "Oh, Merlin, Ron!"

A broken, breathless laugh burst out of him despite the pounding pleasure that was nearly blinding him. Hermione swearing was quite possibly the most flattering thing she had ever said to him. Assuming pushing her to vulgarity meant he was doing something right, Ron didn't dare break his stride. If he had been younger, he would have come the second the word fuck slipped past her lips. His jaw hurt from how tightly he had to grit his teeth against the need for release.

As it was, he was extremely relieved when Hermione bowed beneath him, sobs of pleasure bursting out of her when she suddenly climaxed. His stride obliterated, he started moving over her erratically without a thought to form or style because hearing her always set him off.

It was amazing the level of stress that flowed out of him in what felt like a lifetime of pleasure, but was actually only a few seconds. With the tension gone, a sated, luscious type of pleasure was left in the aftermath of his climax, rolling over him in a warming wave that flowed through his limbs and into his fingers and toes.

Going from stressed out of his mind to sated beyond belief had Ron feeling like he could sleep for a thousand lifetimes.

"We should have done binding," Ron rasped breathlessly into the curve of Hermione's neck as his heart beat the hell out of his ribs. "This was too much. I'll never get it up again."

A shocked laugh burst out of Hermione while she stroked her fingers lazily through his hair. Her breathing was still raspy and irregular, her heartbeat going as hard and fast as his as they lay there together in sated exhaustion.

"That's highly unfortunate. Our wedding's in two days, we're running out of time," she whispered, laughing again at his expense.

"You're sexy." He lifted his head to look down at her, finding her cheeks rosy. Sweaty curls clung to her neck and he brushed them away lovingly, thinking there was nothing more beautiful than Hermione flushed, sweaty and breathless from fucking him. To his shock, he felt a fresh surge of desire tug at his stomach. His smile turned devious and his eyebrows rose. "You said, 'Fuck.'"

"I did not!"

"You absolutely did," he said, his smile growing broader. "I always knew you were a dirty witch."

"Probably your bad influence," Hermione huffed, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink as her head lulled to the side on the blanket. "Not that I believe you."

"Next time I'll be sure to point it out," he mumbled, his gaze lowering to her breasts as he pushed up farther on one arm. He trailed the other hand down until he was cupping one full mound, his thumb rubbing over the tip until it beaded nicely for him. "You have nice tits. I really like 'em."

"You are so crude, Ron," Hermione sighed as she let him explore her without complaint, appealingly comfortable being naked with him. "But, I'm flattered nonetheless."

He leaned down, dragging his tongue over the tightened nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. A little moan slipped past Hermione's lips and she arched into him. His cock, still buried deep inside her, started to stir in appreciation.

"What happened to not getting it up?"

Ron snorted as he kissed his way over to the other breast. "You're making a liar out of me. Shame on you--my integrity is the only thing that can't be taken from me."

Hermione stroked a hand through his hair, before her fingers tightened. She tugged lightly, forcing him to lift his head and look at her curiously. The playfulness gone, her brown eyes swirled with emotion as she studied him. "It's not the only thing," she whispered solemnly. "This can't be taken from you either."

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice catching as emotions he wasn't totally accustomed to surged through him, bringing back that ache in his chest as he stared down at Hermione's beautiful face, seeing the love he felt for her mirrored in her gaze. "You wanna do the binding?"

"Yes, I do," she said as a slow, pleased smile pulled at her lips. "I can't think of anything I want more."


End file.
